POEMS AND VERSE

SCREAMING AT ERNEST HEMINGWAY

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?