A True Account of Talking to the Sun in Vicksburg Mississippi

I slip myself into a wrinkled beige suit

And go outside it’s such a bright day

The first in a week of rain
I smile at the smirking sun

Whose broad elbows rest on spring

Pine tops in this wind I say

Hello sun! How do you like my suit?

Suit schmuit says the sun

Where are you going in that get-up

A job interview? Aren’t you

Supposed to be some kind of poet

A progenitor of what you call

The quote gut-punch poetic unquote?

Why yes that’s what I call it

And I’m stepping out to meet my gal

If you must know but shouldn’t you

Says the sun be writing a poem?

Shouldn’t you be tearing out your hair

I mean if you had much left to pull?

Shouldn’t you be weeping for your words?

Hey sun didn’t you have

A similar conversation with Frank O’Hara

On Fire Island in 1958?

Sir Frank O’Hara served with me

I knew Frank O’Hara

Frank O’Hara was a friend of mine

Sir you’re no Frank O’Hara