You know I always thought
He had a Romanian head on him
Romanian, how so?
Well, It had that bloated look to it,
And Romanian heads always
Look soggy, I think
Hemingway had it in spades..
‘Course it might be the drink, too
He could never pass a bar,could he?
Or it might be that time he landed on his head
In those two helicopter crashes he had
One after the other, the same day I think.
Split his skull open
Exposed his innards to those African parasites
Who knows what damage they did,
Rampaging around his grey matter.
He never said much about it afterwards
Though that twinkle in his eye
Often looked more like a twitch.