(sem título)

the eager note on my door said “call me,”

call when you get in!” so i quickly threw

a few tangerines into my overnight bag,

straightened my eyelids and shoulders, and

headed straight for the door. it was autumn

by the time I got around the corner, oh all

unwilling to be either pertinent or bemused, but

the leaves were brighter than grass on the sidewalk!

funny, I thought, that the lights are on this late

and the hall door open; still up at this hour, a

champion jai-alai player like himself? oh fie!

for shame! what a host, so zealous! and he was

there in the hall, flat on a sheet of blood that

ran down the stairs. i did appreciate it. there are few

hosts who so thoroughly prepare to greet a guest

only casually invited, and that several months ago.

(call me, frank o’hara)

Deixe um comentário