John Ashbery




Not My Favorite Shirt

or even undershirt, zinging
on the grass. The happiest place in the world. 
Why we could have tryouts then.
Those who made it got to be seen
a last time, like the fourth declension
where everything ended in u,
a relatively neglected vowel. Hats were blissful
then, the margins
a bit off. 

Who will take a deeper interest
once these flowers have been gathered
and bound, perhaps for later reference? 
Who will notice us then
as we were noticed once? 

The fire is coming. 
It says to wait.