Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

breakfast with hemingway

i shared a meal
in a bombed out madrid hotel
with ernest this morning

he was grimy and blackened
from a night
of wandering through the plaza de la villa
amidst the sheep, soldiers, and ghosts

i ordered red wine and white cheese
he barked for whiskey and bread
all of which continuously slid to our right
down the half broken bar
to the east

under the swaying
provisional wartime bulbs

my pristine cream blouse
looked like sacrilege
stretching across my breasts
and his eyes

forcing my lips to move
i asked him what he would change
about his life

he said

“I would have fucked more.
I would have written less.”

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