Thursday, August 24, 2023

Neckties

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I used to yearn 

for the days

of hats and neckties,

but especially neckties.


Toppers are a bit too obvious, 

cowboy and baseball,

beanie, boater and beret,

clichéd identifiers

of a job, a team,

a dream.


A necktie is oblique

and suggestive,

beveled, flaccidly

pointing down to

below the waist.


For the banker, 

the hedge fund manager,

the salesman,

it's shiny sleek 

and reptilian

always be closing,

and by the end of the day

hangs under the chin 

long and languid 

like a dog-tired tongue

thirsty for a stiff drink

straight.


I once heard a history buff 

say neckties were a symbol

of slavery,

Colonial,

think of a choke chain,

or a lynching noose.


But I don't see it.

I think of my dad 

teaching me how to make

a Windsor knot,

over, under and around,

over, under and around,

the feel of his soft silk cravat

tightening around my throat,

his thick hands

correcting my small ones

until I got it right.

2 comments:

Ken Stollon said...

Some great lines: "flaccidly/pointing down to/below the waist." I never thought about neckties as sexually suggestive, but I guess they are! In a goofy, "flaccid" kind of way! I'll never look at them the same way again. What better compliment to a poem than that it changes your perspective completely!

Some more great lines: "and by the end of the day/hangs under the chin/long and languid/like a dog-tired tongue/thirsty for a stiff drink/straight." Love the imagery, the language, the alliteration. Love that the drink has to be "straight" (like the tie)!

I always thought the origin of ties was that they were glorified handkerchiefs/dinner napkins. I never hear the the slavery thing. In either case, they are obviously far from frivolous.

My father, also, taught me how to tie a Windsor knot (and I taught my son -- but I'm not sure he still remembers, since he lives in Israel where no one wears ties)! A nice personal touch to end the poem!

Even your observation about hats (I love that you call them "toppers) is right on. I say this as I adjust my kippah on my head.

Glen said...

In recent months I started watching old film noir. Watched possibly 20 movies from the 40s and 50s. Got all wistful for the way they spoke and the days of fashion. Women who wouldn’t go the department store unless they looked like they were going to a cocktail party. Men who never left the house without a blazer. A night out on the town meant black tie. Night clubs, big bands and martinis. And yet the darkness that all that fine style hid beneath the surface.