Jack Kerouac's Grave
appeared in Poor Mojo's Almanac
Years ago I went to a cemetery in Lowell, Massachusetts to look for Jack Kerouac's grave with a boy who vowed to quit smoking for me. Sexy, brilliant, Hollywood hair, and potting soil colored eyes. Kerouac, not the boy. The boy? He and I searched for hours and then gave up. Ah, Kerouac, who lives in my bookcase, emerging glorious when I quote everyone's favorite line from On The Road: "The only people for me are the mad ones..." who would be the first to scorn my search for his grave! He quit smoking for me. The boy, not Kerouac.
They Always Come First
I'm doing my boyfriend's laundry and thinking about what a selfish lover he is when this amazing-looking guy comes in with a basket full of jeans and t-shirts and running shorts. His thick fragrance hits my head, conjuring up images of naked late Sunday mornings, afternoon jogs, fresh vegetables tossed in a wok, wine poured, flowers picked not bought, non-smoking fitness, doesn't watch sports on TV or porn on the internet, handy around the house, arms hairy, smile sexy, tans easily, isn't uptight about catching germs. He asks if I'm done yet, and I say Yes even though I'm not.
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