I tucked Kerouac into my back pocket, a set of pouches stitched together in jeans that already

Held thirty dollars in loose change, a bus ticket that was never checked

By the young black driver who just gave me a smile as he wished

Me a good evening and was amused when I answered back with an English accent.

A chocolate bar, half eaten, evidence of the journey I had taken to find you.

Kerouac groaned as he span in his grave to see his work becoming

Lost in the back of my trousers.

I had read On The Road whilst on the road, hitching a ride from New York

After giving my French mistress a delivery of unrequited love

But with no flowers to keep her keen and smiling, an open eye on the road for me.

She stood impassive, stone faced but there was that twinkle in her eyes that I took

For love, an unspoken threat, a simple request to make sure that at some point I would

Love her again. I promised,

I haven’t yet made good apart from wishing her well when I see pictures

Of her enticing others into her bosom as camera’s flash and people gape

Drinking in her aged beauty.

I left her as I left another who I had turned down, the first and only,

As I couldn’t foresee why she would really want me.

I came to you after spending a night in a bar in which America changed whilst sleeping.

The beer flowed lavishly, I never paid for a pint all night as people asked my opinion

On who I voted for in 92, nobody said I, why would I.

I gratefully accepted the drink and talked of times to come which have not and probably never will

Come to pass…I passed on after the fifth pint, Kerouac’s words were biting my backside.

That morning I stepped out, I planned to see you, the fine mist covering your splendour from

A distance. Hungover I stumbled

Towards you, the bright sunshine of a new dawn, tarnished by dreams

Tarnished by thought and the drama to come, blinding me as I recalled conversations

From youth about what to expect when I first laid eyes on you.

I reached the start of the Rainbow, I couldn’t go further without asking you to lift the veil slightly

And show me just once all that I had heard. Was it true, were you even more beautiful than

My French Mistress who had held me so tightly?

Of course you were but you forever railed against me

You held me at arm’s length even though I spent all day waiting for you to notice me

Just once, just once please, lay that silver train and icy stare my way before I go onto another love

Over the Rainbow as Kerouac’s visions hustle me and the sound of the Supertramp spurs me

On.

I loved you with no chance of affection returned, I tipped my hat to you several hours later

After you had lifted your skirts for thousands of others,

Giving them a tantalising glimpse

Of your intrepid majesty.

 

Ian D. Hall   2013