She’s Dean Moriarty
and I’m Sal Paradise,
because Dean probably made
great margaritas
but Sal knew where they were going.
She is likely to leave me
wounded in Mexico
if something better was up the road,
and I think I would try
to seduce her boy at least once,
but Sal would always come back
and Dean would steal a car
and then produce
a couple of cocktails
and Sal would grab his map
and they’d be on the road again.
That’s just how it is:
she makes bad ass margaritas
and I know where we’re going.
That’s why we’re friends.
Pulled from the pages
of the greatest literary works
(if she were Huck, I’d be Jim)
our friendship lasts
simply because
she makes bad ass margaritas
and I know where we’re going.