The Last Morning in New York (after Frank O'Hara)

At seven-thirty I board the 5 train to Wall Street
wearing knee-length jersey dress in an effort to look
like perhaps it was casual Friday
I sit kitty-corner from a tall thin
quiet-looking black girl with green hair
and a black gemstone in the middle of her forehead
and I think, "Thank goodness people like you
still exist in New York" (but not enough to make me
stay) "and I hope you are as genuine
as you appear to be"
She is ostensibly the only other person
in the car not headed to the office
and I think about all these people
going from subway car to cubicle to
subway car to studio apartment
and I look forward to the afternoon
by which time I will be in the expanse of
the Berkshire mountains of Massachusetts
where there are a lot less boxes

The hotel turns out to be pretty bougie
so I walk through the revolving door as though
I have been staying there for several days
and know where I belong
Thankfully I ride the elevator alone
I consider taking a selfie in front
of the hotel room door (1705)
especially considering I have been standing here
for at least three minutes (but I'm not sure
how long it's really been because
I smoked a joint in my parents' empty apartment
before coming here) contemplating
whether or not I actually want to be here
and when I finally knock on the door
I know he's standing on the other side
staring at me through the peephole
doing the exact same thing