Jack Kerouac’s Run

(1922-1969)

by B. Z. Niditch


Running early
you can’t remember where
on Lowell’s back tracks,
with no I.D.
passport or papers,
only desiring to flee
for the Big Apple
to begin your sentence
in a dark Cedar Bar
and question God
or answer Marx.

But you exit
as any beachcomber
to Big Sur’s mouth
Jack, knifed with drink
handcuffed by a lexicon
still running after
a stab at one more day,
wishing to sing
among stones and stars,
just a Beat in his shoes.


Copyright © 2012 by B. Z. Niditch

Home Page