SCREAMING AT ERNEST HEMINGWAY
©2014 Ken Finton
Damn you, Ernest Hemingway, I said to myself.
Why did you put that shotgun in your mouth?
I know you are no coward ...
I wanted to be like you
And here you go and do this?
Strip it to the bone, you said.
Spit out the meat and get to the skeleton
Because that is the foundation
You need to build on.
Dammit, Ernest. Did you build on sand?
Was the rock too hard for you?
Or is is just that I am young
And you are old and someday
I might put a shotgun in my mouth?
It would not be pretty to think so.
That surely makes a mess
For someone to clean up.
Did you think of that, Ernest?
Did you plan for someone to wipe
Your brains off of the wall?
Dammit, Ernest, you had it all.
I wanted all that too
And then you show me
That it was not having it all
That really mattered.
So where do I go now, Mr. Hemingway?
Like you, I have to write this shit down.
But you made me feel that a crappy future
Is all that lies in store.
So where do I go now, Mr. Hemingway?
Oh, I will stumble though from day to day.
I might even learn some things
You missed along the way.
I will fall and pick myself up.
But you have made me wonder about having it all.
Maybe I don’t want that after all.
I might have to get it all before I know for certain.
Then will I have the same choice?
Will I put a shotgun to my mouth too?
