papa was a tough guy

Hemingway with son, 1941. Photo from the incredible website found here  A truly amazing collection

death, i call you, baby
come to me in gloves
grim lover, thin as grass
your breath as green
as absinthe glass
and alpine clover
i bend and kiss you on your nape, we
dance this one and only time
i leave the boy with you while i’m
away away away somewhere away
you think the wrong thing about me as i go
but once the shot is fired, you will know

—Don Whittington


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