Harrison Ford works at the Hallmark store
In a northwestern Pennsylvania mall;
I’ve seen him there eleven times, or more.

That granite voice, that chin scar I adore,
That smile, both asymmetrical and small:
Harrison Ford works at the Hallmark store.

Though sentimental drivel I deplore,
I’ve bought more cards than I care to recall;
I’ve seen him there eleven times, or more.

I keep the change he’s touched in my top drawer,
And tape receipts he’s handled to my wall.
Harrison Ford works at the Hallmark store.

He’s lying low: my winking he’ll ignore;
To “Mr. Ford” he answers not at all.
I’ve seen him there eleven times, or more.

I think we’re building up a good rapport;
I left my number, and I’m sure he’ll call.
Harrison Ford works at the Hallmark store
I’ve seen him there eleven times, or more.