"our beat generation"

By Cameron Lock

.

You are as invaluable to me

as Neal Cassady to Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Ken Kesey.

Back when i used to believe that

our tiny ensemble would reach a similar level of fame

i would drive you around Washington, D.C.

at two in the morning.

You would look out the window and say

your life was all action and no reflection.

That the rest of this city created,

and all you did was ride its metro lines,

drink its metaphorical coffee grinds.

You said we were the rock stars and gloomy poets

and you were our number one fan,

unable to see it the other way around.



You had decided to become nocturnal in the month of july,

to discover the secret dawns that the rest of us,

asleep in our shoeboxes,

would never know.

Infomercials,

pancake specials at greasy diners,

where it is that the homeless sleep and which stoplights are the

first to blink yellow.

They weren't secrets worth knowing but they were yours to know,

and when you told us about your nighttime mini-adventures, we took notes.

Everyone thought it a true literary accomplishment,

a perfect embellishment of your character,

until, you said, your midnight lunches,

diary politics and careful study of fireflies

got lonely.



There are more songs about you than anyone i know,

and i am confident in telling you that

now there is a poem.

You are writing my novels for me,

and you are composing our three-minute symphonies

for all of us.

You are the drum beat to

our small, local generation.