Carpe Diem

                  after Frank O'Hara

by Kathi Wolfe

It is 6 a.m., and I am begging the gods

to baptize this hot humid day in coffee

and jumpstart the stalled celestial newsfeed,

when suddenly I see the flash across the screen-

telling the world what seems no more possible

than stopping time, finding a lucky penny

under the rocks on the dark side of the moon

or getting global warming to cool itself off:

ROBIN WILLIAMS HAS DIED!

Popeye stops eating his spinach,

dead poets roll over in their graves,

clowns wipe the smiles off their faces,

the clouds have no girlfriends,

the stars lose their homes,

and for an empty, infinite, nano-sec,

I stop breathing.

Popeye's muscles will grow strong,

poets will dance in the hills,

clowns will smile, the clouds will find lovers,

and the stars will have homes, again,

but for a full, infinite nano-sec,

I shall not seize the day, today.

September 2014