Hemingway on Fitness by
Kevin David LeMaster
This Edition was first published Online in America/India by Kev, Ku N Chu Publications. ŠKevin David LeMaster 2015 Cover Page Design: Kushal Poddar
The Truth About Fish Working the Conveyor at the Barbie Factory Hemingway on Fitness Walking the Dog The Light To Dark Ratio Ten Dollar Reading 70s Plastic and a Cap Gun Pie Style Bus Stop Burn Out
The Truth About Fish Tied in knots for Christianity's sake; their tails are split like bow ties, strapped to backs of cars with hypocrisy on their breath. Pan frying only muffles the soft cries of meaning; cornmeal cakes in their throat, rendering them unable to speak wisdom. For those that were hungry that day, there was nothing wasted, all parts nourish the multitudes; afterward, bones line city streets like pebbles, caught deep in sandals and scattered, spreading the word.
Working the Conveyor at the Barbie Factory The plastic wasn’t cold yet before hands were fashioned into that permanent princess wave; trademark positions, used at parades bar mitzvahs, and mall openings. She needs to fulfill certain duties after lounging all day on a conveyer, so I put her head on backwards, so she could see where she's been. She asks me questions; "Does this make my cookie cutter butt look big?" "Did the mold overflow, spilling a helping of cellulite onto my thighs urging me to give up those Twinkies I love so much?" I tell her how she feels is not important. Wear the crown, wave to everyone, and give them more than they ever expected.
Hemingway on Fitness His legs looked like large tumors bulging from backs of calves deformed diamonds that show the definition of a great writer lifting pencils light as toothpicks curling pages benching forgotten stories with great difficulty because some things are harder to put down.
Walking the Dog for Jim Buck dogs fanned in front of him like muscled half moon all bark and no bite many legs walking in harmony his thin stature was no match for 500 pounds of pure canine meat dragging links of chain like a distance runner drags the road behind him in the end tired bones became brittle dogs barked like annoying telephone ring and the chains that dragged him became weights holding him close to earth
The Light To Dark Ratio There is creosote in her eyes; thick and dark like the inside of a blank stare. The end looks like this; night painted with brush strokes, Van Gogh's night minus the stars. She stares between the ever growing black and the heightened awareness of nothing. In this void, there is no sound, no drum, no bass, no perfect pitch, only the faint beep of the microwave and the smell of burning carton and orange chicken. With nowhere to go, what would I wear, what do I do with the leftovers?
Ten Dollar Reading My life is tea leaves stained blood red connecting spaces in between past and present She licks the residue from crimson fingertips promising long life from a line on your hand if the right branch is taken The cards say I will die tonight the pills in the bottle read half and all I can do is sleep.
70s Plastic and a Cap Gun I'm clinging to my childhood one plastic arm joint at a time the construction popped apart like my aged joints but only after a long day of action figure torture they lived a life of fear their faces showed it at the long end of tied together shoelaces if I only had a plastic priest to read the last rites or a cap gun to make it look like an accident
Pie Style Pie style is a worn hat a mix of words a western shirt with rolled up sleeves it's pride Jack from the back of a ford pickup a dish no blackbird would be caught in especially 24 anything can be done pie style you just have to have enough crust
Bus Stop The tree still stands where the bus used to stop and collect our rigid bodies, in winter. Like butterflies under a microscope, we stood trying to warm to a bit of sun that shone a naked eye through its gnarled branches. Five, ten below, we were out there, huddling close to a wrinkled trunk, waiting for that yellow shelter, that massive rolling Twinkie, just in time to deposit us in front of another school to freeze again.
Burn Out I pushed the petal of that green 69' Oldsmobile and littered the road with black vines accelerating past limits turning everything into the perfect doughnut the stereo blasted metal like birds that flee winter their song bled hollow from radio stations all over the 80s spread out before us like a picnic we were late for so we drive on past remembering what others have long forgotten