I entered the following poem in the San Francisco Bay Guardian's 123 LIT Contest, whose 10 winners were announced today. Entries had to be 123 words. Mine was untitled as I sent it, but I am calling it Jack's Ghost (I read it at the open mike on Saturday night at Lowell Celebrates Kerouac).
I trippled down Adler
hoping to meet Jack’s ghost
but ended up sitting on the floor
upstairs in City Lights
reading the blues
when a sexy gone voice behind me
said who’s your favorite?
and without looking to see
my angel in waiting
I wrote “Kerouac” on a blank page
in my little black notebook
stuck my pen in the fold
and passed it behind me
I felt it taken out of my nervous hand
an eternity fell on my shoulders
before a giggle
a sweet silky titter of a laugh
too afraid I still didn’t look
Something touched my shoulder
I reached up, felt my notebook
under Jack’s name was written
“I was here”
I turned around
If you want to read the 10 winning entries, click here.
I don't get it. I really, really don't.
But I am not disheartened, for, after all, I was cut from the high school varsity basketball team twice, which is twice as many times as Michael Jordan was cut from his.