GETTING A HAIRCUT IN POINT RICHMOND

       for Bob and Joan Cone

Surrounded by fruit trees and flowers
I am sitting outside on the deck,
        in a rather functional chair
        in the afternoon air.

Susan is cutting my hair.

She has done this for years;
she does it with ease.

The dogs scratch at their fleas.

One may be proud of doing
     but not in mere being.

The pipes in the kitchen are clogged
     and need fixing.

One can be proud of baking a cherry pie.

There is no pride
in race or gender,
beauty or biology.

Accidents are not deeds.

         . . . wind over San Francisco Bay.

                                       © Anthony Hunt

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