Short (September)

 September is when John Ashbery dies, then. I remember him at the ‘Flow Chart’ Festival session. A publisher asked him what he was writing. He confided to all 100plus of us he was writing short seven or nine line poems, did we know how that felt? The publisher did not know how that felt. September is a school uniform. September’s a boat ride. September is a lover’s tiff. September is a half-forgotten philosopher. The publisher asked John Ashbery about new poets he liked. Ashbery named three or four emerging poets, but I think he made them up on the spot.