Hey Mr. Barber!
The man that takes away our crowns
Without war against the king nor with besieging
We surrender them to you
As if they’re man’s biggest burden

Since I was 7 years old
I’ve wondered why I have to pay you for taking away my carbon-keratin crowns
I asked mama where you sell them after the surgeries
“He givest them to the ALMIGHTY as a burnt offering” She said
GOD must be a humble deity -I keep thinking
Humbler than man who worships him.

Thanks to goodness ain’t no him.. I would fire you from being a high priest
Then I found out the innumerable strangers that stream to your little temple
To have your hands touch them like an anointing ceremony
With that Metallic mouse that nibbles away the fur
You transfer the scalp from those strangers to my cranium -like a surgeon

You’re a neurosurgeon
Who swings my head in every angle
To fell these; my dwarf plants that surround me like a halo
Only that you’re a hair surgeon
Who doesn’t need any anesthetic
I fear the pathogens in that transplant
Thanks to the inventor of methylated liquor
I think those little monsters drink it to their deaths

This your wall of reflections
And the luminescence that bounces on them
And these tiny swinging plates
That create a soothing storm on my perspiring skin
I like this Operating room
It saves me from the angry temperature on the streets of Kampala