O'Hara Late in the Day
       

I'm drinking with O'Hara in my office.
The fluorescent light is buzzing. The cold
twilight creeps steadily through the windows.
I'm reading O'Hara, ecstatic anguish,
cheeky nerve. So many syllables.
There are meetings I must attend, papers
that must be graded, students urged
toward greatness, but his haunting gaze
on the cover dares me to leave him behind.
The building empties and so does the bottle.
Alone. Just me and Frank. The only moral
is of silk cacophony and paper rhyme
rubbed against the heart. I am living
with O'Hara. Go ahead, he says, say everything.

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Copyright © 2020 Glenn Freeman All rights reserved
from Drinking with O'Hara
Gunpowder Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission