The Unknown Hipster

This is the time of the year in New York when you see them returning.

The tall, thin, black silhouettes navigating the slush in their cheap Rock boots.

They announce the coming of Fashion Week like quails announce the end of summer.

I was inspired to write them a poem :

I see you, all pale faced and sad eyes, standing at the corner

« Don’t look at me unless you’re Vinoodh and Inez

My boyfriend he will get you

Dump you in a trash bin somewhere

Daddy will drown you in a pond behind the factory »

I saw you walking fast

Holding tight the frozen plastic of the lookbooks

And now in the middle of the night

I hear you giggling in the hotel rooms

I often see this guy at the airport.

He chaperones the girls trans-Atlantic.

I think he figures out the passports, waits for the bags,

Makes sure some jerk doesn’t snap some photos of them in their sleep.

The girls look bored while they wait.

No friends but a cellphone.