A very special guest post

I've turned this post over to the mothers of the most well known "Beat Generation" writers and this is what they've come up with:

On the Couch

a poem by Jack Kerouac's mother

--------

All day

all day long.

He sits.

Then sometimes he farts.

Long

loud

windy

nasal fouling

farts.

Egg farts,

beer farts,

roast beef farts.

Sitting on my couch.

The one

his father worked

so hard...

so very hard...

to buy us with

filthy lucre obtained from

a

real job.

My genius son Jack

sits

on

our

couch

and

farts

in

our subterranean

apartment.

He's adamnlazygoodfornothing dharma bum.

********

Yowl

a poem by Allen Ginsburg's mother

--------

I saw the best hair of my generation

ruined by

hairdressers named

Fanny and

Mabel and

Opal.

I saw on the avenue

some things.

Things that would make a sailor blush.

I kid you not.

And where was my boy while I was seeing such things?

My son who should be in medical school I tell you,

or

at the very least in Rabbinical school,

where

was he?

Oy, don't ask.

Such heartbreak you'd bring up by asking.

You wouldn't want to do that to

a loving mother would you?

My son, my once full of promise.

Now he's naked and doing g-d knows what

with goys and negro hipsters.

Allen,

bubbie,

where did your father and I go wrong?