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.