Freak Dune Buggy Accident 

(For Frank O'Hara)  

Damn! Pacing cold,

Another winter, shivering

Until I can stand pat--

Acclimatized,

Cards close to my chest

And waiting.

I was only four months out

In July of '66

Just a mewling, grasping

Thing,

A baby,

Which is sort of the

Same as a poem,

I think.

You left behind (they say)

Hundreds of friends

And lovers,

But most importantly,

Your not-so-easily

Dis (missed) poetry.

I imagine you

Lying on the cold,

Damp sand of Fire Island,

The smell of diesel

In your nostrils,

Looking up at

The stars--grains of

Spilled salt on a crisp

Wedding tablecloth--

Chuckling to yourself,

The absurdity!

As Mayakovsky winks

From a passing cloud.