Neal Cassady
by Michael Estabrook
virtually lived in a car,
was happiest driving.
I don’t know how many trips
he made back and forth,
up and down
across the country,
down to Mexico,
up into New England,
over to California, Texas, Colorado.
100 mph. 110 mph.
money for gas and cigarettes,
beer and cheap wine
taking precedence over
everything else.
picking-up hitch-hikers
for a few bucks,
for some colorful conversation.
driving even when exhausted.
or hungry, or lost, or lonely.
the Road was his Home.
all that primal, raw,
uncultivated energy directed
who-knows-where who-knows-why
as long as it was
on the Road.