Brown men with iPhones Jon Doble

Jon Doble

BROWN MEN WITH iPhones

They have arrived in our small town, the men, yes men, for men they are, with darkling beards and shiny phones, yet without an ounce of human being. And our hairdressers are revolting.

They come, unwanted, uncalled for and unkempt from far away, from places without names or nouns, to shake the walls and break the moulds. And our hairdressers are revolting.

They come without the decency to ask, without their wives and kids, abandoned now for watery ways that risk the grave assumptions of the way. And our hairdressers are revolting.

They come with beards and phones replete with unseen means to harm and we now need to cross the road to shun and then to shame with blame. And our hairdressers are revolting. And in the salons of our little town, we share the threat and stoke the fear and in the dark degenerated buzz of bile the borders of our time are now closed. And our hairdressers are revolting. And in the blindness of our being without the common decency of sight we tell ourselves we know it all blind to the otherness of them. And our hairdressers are revolting.

And yet, behind the beards and phones the fear of drowning out the human soul bereft of being seen and left to sink alone while waters choke the gift of hope. Our hairdressers are revolting.