For a moment’s peace

In a bid for a moment's peace
you came.
And on the train I was left to confront my fear of long poems
and family reunions
by reading Frank O' Hara
under your steady gaze;
unable to follow my own vein of thought
or understand
the irony of Personism
that you seemed to grasp
and laugh about knowingly.
Seeing me in my worst light
you shone brightly
in the window of the carriage
while I tried unsuccessfully to catch one of the two eyes
that nearly didn't come
in that tired sight.
Grabbing with outstretched hands
and low expectations
waiting for something to clear me of something.
Hours later, I tried again
but my eyes were struck-through
in the reflection
of the photograph that was taken;
hanging on happy stalks
while red-legs joined arms and lovingly danced
folding one over another
as part of their own
paper-napkin-dance.
And I thought back to this night
in ten year's time:
the red marks under my eyes a clear sign
that I haven't slept enough this year.
Less tonight than even before
tonight
watching helplessly from the corridor;
luxuriously wishing wishes
I won't be wishing in ten years
about writing long poems
about New York artists
and parties
where poems are made up on the boat over.
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