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)