The ghost of Frank O’Hara leaves early
huge with desire. He sees through you, ogles
your ass while on the Metro; this fleshy
world! It’s what the living do that dazzles!
Only in poetry are ghosts obsessed
about panties. In novels it is briefs.
Plays call for jockeys. Textbooks might suggest
underwear. This language, ghosts claim, motifs
about buttocks and thongs. “We died before
thongs!” If you see a ghost gaping at you
in the changing room, say: “Bad Ghost!” I’m sure
it’s tough being behind the times, tattoos
and rings and whatnot being in right now
except for Frank who is always hip somehow.