Confessions and Questions for Jack Kerouac By: Joel Ferdon

Dear Jack, I made it
To Texas. Not as good
As Denver, I know,
But it was my own
Right of passage.
Would you have gotten
A gallon of gas
For a quarter
And a pack of smokes
For 50¢ more?
I kept rolling
My own
Through Mississippi
And Louisiana,
But ran out
On the edge of Texas.
My thumb didn’t go as high
As yours, but my left arm,
Burnt to shit,
Hung from the window
And played with the air
Down along
The gulf, passing
My beloved New Orleans.
It was only in my dreams,
Jack,
That I could come
This far.
Now, tired as hell,
The coffee is hot,
The peach cobbler and ice cream
From last night
Rings true
With the tobacco
From this sun rise.
I made it this far.
How much further
Can I go?