My Love For Neon Lights Poem by Dani Millar

To Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)

The blues buzz and the reds rumble,
the yellows yell and the greens growl.
The morning sky shines like a leviathan lemon.
Diner signs screech like spectres in a spectrum,
as their rainbows roar, delivering their mundane message
of cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes.
These solitary signs scribble and sing
odes to fried fish and French fries and hymns
to castles of casinos. Pinks pule elegies of
women who sold their expensive bodies for
a handful of dollars, who will never regain
their childlike innocence again.
I'll stare at these sonneteer signs
just like how O'Hara did. I'll scroll these streets
for him,
just like he did, for me.