Jack's Legacy

 

The critic gushed and said, “Just
like Jack, so raw, I never thought
to ever see another writer so like
Kerouac!” Kerouac, who the fuck
is he? Writer? Gee, well that’s a
laugh, compare me to a writer! 

 

Let’s face it I’m no hack, I’m not
a glossy look at either – nor was
Jack who took the crumbs alike.
She’s got my verse; well maybe
not, I see her eyes are focussed
far too short for that. 

 

She’s hot, fiftyish, a horsey bitch
(that means she’s trifling fat) with
glasses and ‘n acre for an arse –
a place to ponder, you’d get lost
and wander for a week. I’ve got
the time but let me guess she’s
short on gratitude. 

 

Tonight she’d screw me right just
‘cause she can, and if I sold some
poetry she liked she’d let me stay
the night, or for a week. Like Jack
I’m free and easy ‘tho he’s dead,
while I am not his living legacy.
© I.D. Carswell

 

Let me say I’m not like Jack at all. Sure, I might have been as a young man, perhaps I was, who cares! Kerouac inspired me then and I’ve always admired his style. Of course he wouldn’t have written a verse like this despite sharing the sentiments.