Jack Kerouac Dreamed of the Dharma
Jack Kerouac dreamed of the
Dharma,
All doubledy-clutched,
And rolling
At about a hundred and
Ten miles
Per hour,
You unnerstand,
In a nineteen forty-seven Dodge coupe;
All the way across the vastness of the
Great Plains
And up the Ohio Valley
It would come roaring into Manhatten
Like a
Drunken Denver cowboy,
With his wages burning a hole in his pocket;
But the Interstates left
The Dharma stranded like
An ancient alcoholic
Hitchhiker
In a small room
At the Wagon Wheel Motel
Near
Cuba, Missouri
On what used to be Route 66.
Aw, Jack Kerouac is dead, anyway
And the Dharma never really
Caught on
With the American public
so maybe its just as well.
That he failed to beat
Those particular odds;
Sometimes
Death is enough.
On Drinking Alone
If God is ever present
Then no one drinks alone.
I’m not sure if that’s a comfort
Or a cause for alarm.
I guess I’ll leave the theological
Ramifications to the experts.
Cheers,
Lord
Jerry is a retired Engliah teacher who continues to write poems against his better judgement.
