by Jeffrey Kingman
after Kerouac’s “On the Road”
she went out in the mud to find a head between his knees
the two foggy bundles wandered there together
from the steps of the motel court
alone mixing up their boys a prowl car came by
possessions moved along self-propelled hunchbacks
a penny pile outside the arcade
their remaining money dissipates a different kind of fog
the kind that blows out your mouth
his mouth her mouth
a mouth
brushed the sand off the sheets
three or four sevens in his pocket
she sat down to make him look right off his truck
yanked at each other in the clutch
a new idea they talked a little fool