.. a brief literary conversation at work,

 

people either know
nothing about
literature

or the THINK they know
way too
much

while at work there
was a discussion
on reading
habits

I (of course) spoke
of Hemingway

how he volunteered to be
an ambulance driver
for the Italian
army during
WWI

then his trip to Paris
where he became
part of the Lost
Generation and
crafted his
art into a
razor

along with Picasso,
Joyce and few
immortal
others

I went on and on
about how he
rid the clutter
from his
work

and how his lines
traveled straight
as an arrow to
the heart
of his
ideas

         (silence)

as I stood looking
at my fellow
beings

the world became
a little smaller,
colder,
darker

I was alone
again
with

Hemingway

Kafka

Fante

Rand

and all the others
long gone that
bring me
life

...and I wouldn't
have it any
other
way