On the Holloway Road

           Anne Rouse          

Where then now, Jack Kerouac?
Down some reeling American valley
to Denver city,

San Fran Hoboken Mexico; old Jonah
in the sweltering gut,
bleached with a million fishes - ?

Come to the Holloway Road,
Jack, you and any angels en passant;
the Roman Great North Way,

rich in wizened rubbish sacks,
furtive Greek card games; two or three
fast fooders, with TV zap and shine;

burrow in the velvet pubs of Celtic fiddle swing;
join the Secular Society and the Merchant Seamen;
circle the centrepoint of language

for zanzibars of meaning in this grey,
hero of sensations.
Descend to our foggy east, reddened with Dharma light.