Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Frank O'Hara

Name Dropper

I was invited out that night
to a party as a plus one.

The call came late and the party was near
my house, but what had I to wear?
I threw some clothes on, a disguise of the common man,
and headed to J's Bottle Shop to pick up some Auchentoshan.
I arrived as the invited guest of an invited guest,
but I'd known whiskey sweetened sour feelings best,
and I told the host, Coleman Parks, that I was with Mike Mills
but they'd apparently had a fight, so it was time to head for the hills.

Upon some railroad tracks, I journeyed home, but saw
Heidi there and, not recognizing me, she called the law.
Once I explained myself to the powers that be
I set out again on adventure, this time with Lee
Bowers, who'd seen Kennedy killed,
and with Terry Rowlett, a painter skilled.
We three ran into trouble, to little space here to tell,
but rest assured that we will all go to hell.

And these meaningless words to you I feed,
for I want you to know the socialite life I lead.
Call me a name dropper if you dare,
but I'm not as bad as Frank O'har

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