poetryrepairs 15,07:076

PETER KROK : SEPTEMBER 5, 1957
PETER KROK : DEFIANT CRICKET

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SEPTEMBER 5, 1957

Jack, I can see you on that New York corner waiting For the Times, knowing a review was coming out, knowing something good might happen. In that classic photo, you stand by the corner window, a Lucky Strike dangling from your lips, an Orpheus in a black leather jacket. That night you’d never forget. Going out at dusk you got an early copy of the Times. The next day On the Road would be on the streets and highways. You’d be celebrated as the beat. Who could know how your life would change? Who could imagine what would come? You drove across America, always on the move, always moving on, searching for wherever that somewhere never was.

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PETER KROK
DEFIANT CRICKET

I pinch you twitching in my palms And stare at your dark and hideous sneer. I never eyed you so closely before, antennas jutting out, quivering bowstring arms. Were you meant to play the fiddle as Nero Burned Rome with the red of his madness? Forewings bent into your chest As if in a rigor mortis final prayer, You sneer as if you pity the world And gloat the strange and coming silence Your returning to the dust. Horned stern eyes and there is still your grin, so queasily defiant. Was your grin what medieval masons traced on the gargoyles of Notre Dame as a reminder for those demons that still roam the night? Your stare suggests Beelzebub is not far.

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poetryrepairs #214 15,07:076







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