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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.
Frank O'Hara
Read
poems about / on: funny,
autumn,
time,
running
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Frank O'Hara 
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Frank O'Hara
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