The
Problem with Ernest Hemingway
by
Kenny A. Chaffin
All Rights
Reserved © 2019 Kenny A. Chaffin
No one can write like that sissy
that put a shotgun in his mouth
and blew the top of his head off.
Why would you want to
if that’s how it all turns out
and it does, it always does.
Trust me I’ve seen it
I’ve studied it, I’ve
felt it in my bones
Cold brittle bones
of the aged, the decrepit
the desirous
Only the first sentence matters
It must be true
Everything follows from that
all the way to the end
the gun, the brains,
the blood on the ceiling.
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