Kerouac's Ghost
i saw ol Jack's ghost
back in seventy-two,
taking one last trip
down the Great Highway,
headin for Big Sur
& the terrible surf
of old delirium tremors
& fog-bound nightmares.
ol Jack Duluoz,
beat rucksack
On his back,
dangling Saint Christopher
gleaming in the sad
moon-glow of
California autumn
Ol Jack,
still lost in America.
“Hey, Jack,
you Dharma
Angel-Headed
bum you,
you ol Mad Saint
of redbrick Lowell
& midnight freight Yards,
where goest thou in the night? ”
“To see the Buddha himself
& the Great Pooh Bear
Of The Golden Light-
& maybe that ol Cowboy
Neal
who waits for me
with glee
under a roof of
old Mexican stars
that twinkle
even as we speak-
tho I’ve heard
They’re the very same
stars that sparkle
the Denver nights
& peekaboo through
the Frisco fog-
anyway, it's all
about those stars now,
& always was.'
His footsteps vanished
into the vast coastal fog
As a freight train wailed
where no rails
had ever been.
poem by Terry L. Young
Added by Poetry Lover
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