Henry Foner

Henry the last of the Amazing Foner Brothers, died at 97 last Thursday. There are thousands of Henry Foner stories, and every single one of them could be a poem. Henry sang, and could sing anything. If he were alive, he’d sing this poem.


I fixed up

Henry Foner a while ago

on a date with Sylvia Weiss.

She was a little older (7 years) had a lot

in common. They agreed

on the phone to go to a documentary

about Exxon but each asked

separately if I

would accompany them.


Henry had an unexpected

muffler less muscle car

and Sylvia,  new Loehmann’s

outfit for the occasion.

He shouldn’t have been driving

but he picked us both up

took us to the theater on 23rd Street

I sat in the back seat and listened

to them laughing all the way

to a 2 o’clock weekday show.

The minute we walked inside

sat in the empty theater Henry and Sylvia

fell asleep, side by side.

I sat in back of them.

The movie was a little out of focus

and pretty long but when

it ended they each woke up,

declared both the movie

and their date as perfect.

And they even saw

one another again.

Without me.

Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.


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