For Frank O'Hara

He wrote a poem
and sat down
with it for lunch
at some café
about to burst
with people
checking their watches
and tying their laces
shuffling
from shop to shop.

He sent the poem
to his friend
who lived a few
miles away
in a small room
just like his
where he opened
the letter and read it
and put it in his book
to remember
that it was there.

He shuffled
back to work
after he ate
his small lunch
and sighed and sat
thinking about life
and of a new poem
that he could write.

What could be condensed
he thought
what could he experience
and translate
brief with clarity
into a fresh poem
that he could record
for a new friend.

He sent
his poems out
to his friends
to show them
what he felt
was worth living for
what was important
and his friends
kept his poems
in their books
so they would know
where they were.