Rebirth of Muse

Hemingway walks into the room,
Sauntering over to the wet bar,
Grabbing two glasses
He slams two ice cubes in each
And pours the Scotch,
Walking over to me
He hands me the glass
And snorts.
“So, what’s her name?”
Both of us devouring half the drink in one sip,
Returning to the bar Ernest then returned
Clutching the carafe he begins
Pouring us more of the sweet libation.
“Her? Muse? What’s her name?”
I smiled from ear to ear,
“How did you know?”
“I always know. So, what’s her name?”
“It’s a wonderful name but I’m not sharing.
It makes me smile as you can see,
Isn’t that enough?”
Without missing a beat Ernest shot back,
“Well it’s going to have to be for now.”
Raising my glass I downed my drink
As did Ernest and then poured
Double what he had before.
“So, you’re really not going to tell me?”
“Later! Don’t want to jinx anything.”
“And you’re writing again?”
“Flowing like the Nile Ernest, it’s great.”
“Everything and nothing. But I think it’s good.”
“Do you now? Perhaps we should get sober and edit?”
“How about we stay drunk and write?”
And just as suddenly as he arrived we were gone,
It was almost time to write,
Though not before some more strong drink.




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