A Brief Evening With Hemingway

I found myself at a cocktail party once,
Hugging myself close to the wall
As Hemingway occupied everything else in the room.
He won himself quite the audience that evening,
Wetting his whistle with whiskey
And spouting terse terms
Of what Spain had been like
And of Africa before that,
All to underline some broad stroke of masculinity.

A rule that I always seem to break
Is to never make eye contact
With someone you don't want in your life,
No matter how brief that may be.
So when I committed that personal sin,
With the man at the center of attention,
He slopped and sipped his gin towards me
And said

"Write drunk."
And all the men and women laughed and cheered
As he was swallowed up once again by his worshipers.

I just stood there and shifted my weight around.
After all that's what I'm good at, maybe even good for.
So I said "Good night." to the wall,
Thanked it for some good conversation,
And found my way out the door.

Write drunk and you'll prolong the inevitable act of remembering.
Writing sober will hurt but the pain will paint for you your words.