Silver Foxes by Ken HarnischThe silver foxes come strutting out
Of their townhouses late at night
And inform me
Well be making one stop
Before we go to Rothmanns, or Bice
Or the Gansevoort Hotel for drinks
At the stop, the slender, young and lovely
Wait under the awnings or behind the glass
And seeing the car pull up
Smile way too widely
As they climb in
While the doormen cling
To the doorknob
And throw me winks and looks
And the Foxes whisper in the car
And the vixens laugh all too readily
But all is up and up, for
The eyes of the limo man
See all ways at all times
And one in this position
Must be nothing but discreet
I sit there for hours, munching on a hero
Reading Jonathon Franzen
Sipping my ginger ale
Calculating the immeasurable wealth
That is about to befall me at nights end
And when they finally emerge
I watch the Foxes lurch to kiss
The vixens, and the vixens blush
And grin at me, knowing that I know
And later on, wracked by guilt
Or whatever wracks the minds of
Men in pursuit of the fleeting
Heat of yesteryear, they engage me
In conversation
Oh, it is some mindless thing: sports, the news,
How I got this job and do I like it
And in the awkward silence
That follows they inevitably reach into
Their pockets and tip me overlarge.
On the weekends, I toast
The proliferation of Silver Foxes 10/19/2004 Posted on 10/19/2004 Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Melissa Arel on 10/20/04 at 01:55 PM You tell stories so well! I could see it all in my mind as I read this.. Great job! |
Posted by Vivienne Grant on 02/22/12 at 06:34 PM what verdant fields your occupation has afforded the poet in you! i admire your observations and manner in which you present these snippets of life |
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