|
One-Night Standees
by Ken HarnischSober-sided reflections will wait
They usually do till morning
When I am no longer drunk with the lust of wanting
And she, who looked like Snow White in the bar
Now mumbles beside me in the wake of ebbing sleep
Her hair, which looked so fine in the half-light
Last night, is snarled like Brillo, and I resist the temptation
To tug at it and make it whole again. She snores.
I wonder if other men, as adept at taking
Her home or at least to a motel, have
Noticed she whispers in her sleep
And that his name is Steve.
Ah, the sun will soon find a rent in the
Curtains and shine its light upon
My dying soul. Once again I will ponder
The wages of the unexamined life, the one
Tortured, but never cured, of its youthful
Obsession with bedding beauties
Of dubious substance and achievement
When vertically aligned
All rationalized away, over that alone again
Cup of coffee, by wondering what it is
That keeps us coming to the bar, seeking
Comfort in the arms of strangers
And other vampires. 08/04/2008 Author's Note: Dedicated to M.P., an old used to be friend, who to my knowledge has never reflected or regretted...
Posted on 08/04/2008
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 08/04/08 at 03:28 PM Well said Ken. How many of us have saved our small sanity in bed with someone we've barely known. Though I've never picked anyone up in a bar, the chance encounters have been sufficient to get me through the night, the week, the year depending upon my ability or in to face the world. |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 08/04/08 at 08:34 PM How is it what we think we want isn't really what we need,,,I like your style and your morning reflection. smh |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/05/08 at 02:54 AM Oooooo, I do like this self reflection - a fairy-tale like expectation answered with Brillo hair - yikes! I love the vampire ending. |
| Posted by Amy Niggel on 08/07/08 at 08:03 PM I think I've met a few of those guys over the years. Come close to being that girl once or twice to, but I always wore my hair too short to turn to brillo while I slept. Great poem again! |
| 
