A POEM - TRADING KEROUAC FOR KAFKA

TRADING KEROUAC FOR KAFKA
He was sweating profusely
And had a rash on his face.
He was from Calgary
And he said things like, “hey?”
At the end of his sentences.
He’d just begun his travels
And was shotgunning up Indonesia
And through Malaysia to Phuket,
To meet up with some friends in Thailand.
He used the common backpacker excuse
For moving fast and by night.
“that way I won’t have to pay for
A place to stay each night.”
But a place to stay was about 30,000 rupiah,
And his bus had cost him 210,000.
I wondered if there were bastards out there,
Cheaper than me,
Or if it was all just a big lie.
He followed me to a restaurant
And we spoke about stupid things.
But then we stumbled on the subject of books,
And how we both needed new ones,
As we’d finished the ones we had.
In the end I swapped On the Road
For a collection of short stories by Kafka,
Something I’d been looking for since Thailand,
And had never been able to find.
“they’re dark,” he said, thumbing through On the Road.
“you’ll wanna read each one twice,
Because the endings, well, they’re kinda weird.”
“all right,” I said, knowing about weird endings.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then I left him at his place,
Sweating and squinting
in the searing afternoon Balinese sunlight.
“good luck out there,” I said.
He reached out his hand and I shook it,
All wet with sweat.
“yeah, yeah, hey? Have a good trip.”
I walked away, happy to have gotten a new book,
And thinking about the line,
“have a good trip.”
I wished I’d come back with,
“see you next fall,” but I hadn’t.
Not in time, anyway.