Glenn Freeman
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.
Glenn Freeman has published a chapbook, Fading Proofs, and two collections of poems, Keeping the Tigers Behind Us and Traveling Light. He lives with his wife and two cats in small-town Iowa where he teaches writing and American literature and watches the tomatoes grow.
Return to September 2018 Edition
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.
Glenn Freeman has published a chapbook, Fading Proofs, and two collections of poems, Keeping the Tigers Behind Us and Traveling Light. He lives with his wife and two cats in small-town Iowa where he teaches writing and American literature and watches the tomatoes grow.
Return to September 2018 Edition