Dear Old Hem

A Poem by Fabrice Poussin

You sleep with the lions, at the foot of Kilimanjaro,
sweet child, with a rugged gaze, next to you
the old typewriter starves for one last stroke.Dear old Hem

I wonder, my dear old hero,
what is it like to stare at a double barrel
loaded with the after-life on a lonely day?

You had a way with words, my old friend;
the prize of prizes in your back pocket,
stories to tell for ages yet to come.

Was it simple irony that turned the gun
on a beautiful mind made of lifetimes
with two hands on the triggers of eternity?

It’s just punches in the dark now on the walls
of infinity, fishing for Noah in Spain, running
with the bulls, dreaming of a peace in Panam*.

You sleep with the lions, at the foot of Kilimanjaro,
sweet child, with a rugged gaze, next to you
the old typewriter starves for one last stroke.

*Panam is a name that has been used to speak of Paris, France, around the 1930’s to 50’s.

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