the ghosts of 1958
by John Dorsey
i read somwhere that
that jack micheline and
ted joans rented themselves
cuz some hip little
chick wanted “real” beatnicks
for her sweet sixteen
and of course jack
would tell ya that
he wasn’t beat that
is unless you were
picking up the dinner
check of course then
he was one of
the ghosts of 1958
a five spot on
charlie mingus’s shoelace dressed
head to toe in
black fixing to bird’s
spirit in the bathroom
he was there listening
to buddy holly snap
bubblegum to your
parents “true love ways”
in the back of
the chevy where babyboomer
america was born groping
jazz and while in
mexico he fucked every
whore that kerouac ever
dreamed of but he
wasn’t beat no baby
just one of the
ghosts of the 1958
one of the outlaw
spooks of walt whitman
preaching civil rights for
the heart of bob
kaufman even after 1958
was no longer whispered
on our nation’s lips
even after gregory went
to italy and bob
went silent into that
goodnight having seen
nightmares that rivaled dante’s
“inferno” he sang happy
birthday to the flame
of age that had
slowly crept up on
the word and swallowed
his tongue hiding it
in some scared hipster’s
tomb until he was
ready to come out
and
dance