After five years of buzzing my own hair,
  I felt the urge to find a new barber chair.
Hopes soared, for I needed professional help
  to tame the scraggly mop upon my scalp.

The search took me over hilly terrain,
  south along the river to tiny Belle Plaine.
I came early and settled on the bench,
  where the big-city paper carried the day’s stench.

At 10:30 sharp, it was time to rise—
  glorious punctuality before my eyes!
The old vinyl chair was warm when I sat,
  and I promptly explained where I was at.

He applied a tissue, as a good barber should,
  while I surveyed the historic room draped in wood.
Listening to my intentions, he planned his attack
  and nodded at my request to keep it pointy in back.

The weapon was blindly retrieved off the shelf,
  he got to work at once, like Scissorhands himself.
Asked for a neck trim, I said, “Yes, please,”
  and the razor slid with the greatest of ease.
  
The moment arrived to look in the mirror
  to gauge the work of this newfound shearer.
Jiminy Crickets!  A glorious sight–
  thanks to Brad, who topped my hair right!