If life could only spare me just one full night,
a glass of scotch on the rocks, and a
typewriter to write; along with the age
of flappers and jazz; filled with memories of “Pah-ree”,
so apart of Paris I’d be.
I’d take shots with Scott,
while Hemingway lectures drunken prose,
and Zelda stains all the windows of the wall with her
curves in a pose.
Blazing cigarettes, and drinking,
but never minding other’s woes,
because I’m too busy thinking,
and drinking and listening to Hemingway
and his prose.
The flappers, the jazz,
the restless night that unfolds;
the writers, the poets, the artist,
and the artists all known.
Among legends of legacies,
and the age of letting go;
cursing the prohibition, and
having every reason to drink slow.
The pen would be burning,
while the paper becomes ashes,
all eyes would be yearning,
to read some prose that’s disastrous.
the age…that’s everlasting.
Both Scott, and Zelda,
would finally say bye, as my time was finally passing,
and Hemingway would say,
“I read your work, and it’s great, goodbye and kiss our asses.”
Photo Credits: “The Great Gatsby”
Note: If you’re not too familiar with Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott, and Zelda Fitzgerald, or the Prohibition of 1925, then
this poem may not have its’ proper effect on you.
Also inspired by: “Midnight in Paris“, a film written by Woody Allen