pancakes. dranks. paint. sad fans. blazing heat. ice cream. i wonder - what would ginsbeerg and kerouac think

if they were here today? would they dig this scroll

at the mercy of all the feverish fingers

of a new east village generation?

would they hold the hands of lovers

they loved clandestinely 60 yrs ago?

and would they dig us - the post-modern "mad ones"

eating ice cream, reading their books,

planning november trips to mexico,

singing ukelele-syrummed beatles songs,

talking softly, heads bowed, hearts bared,

and learning what it means           to love each other?