By AIDAN COOPER
Photo courtesy of author.
Boston, MA
After Frank O’Hara
Father’s Day, it’s 8 a.m. & I’m late on the road
to Boston because I drooled too much sleeping
I’m driving to a Red Sox game, yes I’ll go
because my dad at one point liked the pitcher
& the tank’s too full to not go
when I reach the MFA beehiving with students
I wonder what’s on & it’s Van Gogh’s Roulin Family Portraits
& I want to park there in case I have time to peruse
but it’s 50 bucks & I’m seeing my family anyway
so I circle Huntington until I find an empty spot
on Parker & it’s Sunday so I’m off the hook
& I don’t thank God pay a thing
I meet Mom & Dad & Brigham (their Bronco’s on Hemenway
by the Temple Bell) & my mom asks about the jean jacket
I bought from L-Train Vintage in Bushwick
& about my girl haircut & I nod with the drip coffee
I got from Pavement, it’s terrible, I spill a bit
on the sidewalk & I end up with I think it looks nice
& the suspicion I might be drifting too far into an archetype
through which my mom can’t see her child but it’s okay, it’s noon
& the air’s pretty & hush here
on the Fens there’s a mallard
philandering another duck
when an Irish guy says
had to go to a funeral yesterday the other guy
looks down says oh I’m sorry & the Irish guy says it is
what it is
& later after visiting Brigham’s apartment building
I’m in the Fenway bleachers for the first time since 2011
when you could see the Citgo sign though now
construction’s blocking it & everything’s smaller & below
the boys throw and catch and throw a white orb around
from up here you don’t see the ball’s red latticework
& I don’t know I’m not paying attention I’m crunching
peanut shells thinking Murakami began to write novels
because of baseball why don’t I
my dad’s grumpy
I’m vegetarian now & didn’t want a frank & yes it’s probably
a phase he’s probably right but it’s a good phase & his friend Dale
(who came along for a signature on his mint-10 rookie card)
stands over my shoulder jabbering he wouldn’t mind being gay
to dress how gays dress & the peanut shells speak for the floor
whenever anyone steps
after the game (the Sox won 2-0 against the Yanks
thanks to Devers I think) I hug my dad & my mom & Brigham
& my mom hands me the coat hangers I asked her for
& it’s thank you I’m sorry have a safe drive
& I get in the
car but before going home I detour a Used Book Superstore
30 mins away because I’ve got the time & I pick up
a 5-dollar copy of Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley
in Search of America because Mariana whom I’m crazy
about said her life changed & because it says “Darla
let’s travel together love Johnathon” on the inside flap
& I think about how much I think about my life changing
as the radio runs Van Morrison over the horizon rising
over the sun & it makes sense finally what Ibn al-Haytham was
saying when he said all anyone ever sees is light
a day later the Sox trade Devers for someone I’ve never seen
& I text my dad & he says he already saw on the news.
Aidan Cooper is a senior at Amherst College and the third annual David Applefield ’78 Fellow at The Common. They are a recent recipient of the Five College Prose and Poetry Prize.
