Kat Moore

Advice from Ernest

The head of Ernest Hemingway sits on a stand
In the receiving area of the bookstore.
Bodiless.
Brows furrowed.
Thick wrinkles around the lifeless eyes.
Bronzed, and frozen.
 
He judges us.
As we rush by,
Our soles smacking the concrete floor
Headed to the break room.
 
He longs to cat call
At the cutesy girls,
Sashaying their hips
To his stare.
 
He mocks
The marketing girls'
Exclusive cupcakes,
Never sharing with the rest of us.
 
In the dark at night,
All alone.
He dreams of sailing on blue water,
A fishing pole in his hand,
Busted knuckles from a fight the night before.
His head still aches for more alcohol
And to feel the naked curves of a woman.
 
He imagines his body in the ground,
Worms eating his legs and chest.
His head will never decay
Or feel the nibble of creatures in the dirt.
 
The lights come on.
New books arrive.
He laughs at Nicholas Sparks
And calls him a pansy.
He wants to grow back his arms
And write about abortions.
 
Each morning,
He has inched closer to the edge.
Hoping to fall, and smash
Our safe existence.
 
He knows me.
He has something to tell me.
I lean in,
Put my ear on his cold lips
Pressed, stuck together.
His voice comes out hoarse.
Stale cigars and whiskey
Burn my skin.
 
Kid, forget about the humdrum.
Smear the page with blood and guts.
Tell em about the time you drove 108
Five cop cars on your tail
Your man crouched in the floorboard
Counting the dough.
The feel of the clutch
As you accelerate through the gears
Relinquishing fear
Fueled by instinct.
 
He pauses…

Go to Paris this summer,
And fuck the bitches in marketing.
 
He falls to the concrete floor
Scatters into tiny pieces.
A co-worker walks up
Tries to step over the remains.
She screams “Hey!”
As I grab a cupcake
And bite in.

 
Kat Moore returned to college after being burned by the restaurant industry. She is trying hard not to succumb to the slick, sterile, perfect form of writing being taught in her school. She loves to write but hates when it starts to feel like a job, with rules and order and impersonal distance. She works as a part-time bookseller in an independent bookstore and fears the day when it will close its doors. She doesn't want to live in a world without bookstores. One of her stories appeared in the August 2011 issue of The Legendary. She lives in Memphis, TN.