HEMINGWAY’S HEAD

 

HEMINGWAY’S HEAD

 

You know, I always thought Hemingway

He had a Romanian head on him.

Well, it had that bloated look to it,

And Romanian heads always

Look a bit soggy, I think;

And Hemingway had that in spades.

‘Course it might also be the drink

He never could 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, they say

Exposed his innards to those African parasites;

Who knows what damage they did?

Rampaging around his grey matter.

Times like that tend to make you feel

That life’s a real bitch.

He never said much about it afterwards

Though that twinkle in his eye

Began to look more and more like a twitch.

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