I should have asked all of them for their names

The Kurdish barbers gave me coffee -

It was on the house -

No, no -

They waved my note away -

The young man with the darting scissors told me he was born in Syria - 

He cut my hair with swaggering artistry -

There was a boy from Iran in a leopard print fleece -

There were gleaming beards and laughter -

We have no country one of them said - 

I remembered the scornful words I'd heard in the Turkish village -

There - that is where the Kurds live -

The small house beyond the tea garden -

The stony soil -

I should have asked him for his name, the young man cutting my hair -

I cannot go back he said -

I listened to the music coming from the speakers -

I sipped the sweet coffee -

I should have asked all of them for their names -

I should have told them mine -