Fuck you Ernest Hemingway.
Fuck you too Bukowski,
Burroughs, Kerouac, Thompson-
You too, Jim Carroll.
You kind of got it;
But not really.
We can blame it on the smack if you really want to,
But in all honesty I think it helped more than it hurt.
I never fell for it.
Not the smack
Or the booze.
That’s reason number one for the ‘fuck you’.
Not that I’ve got your attention,
Reason number too is
I’m a woman.
I have played your sacred game.
The physically brutal odd jobs and the long hours and the whiskey and the no sleep-
The provocative strangers and evocative landscapes and the research chemicals,
The highways and the highways and the watching the watchers and the wrong end of police weaponry, poverty
The working class plight and the overburdened heart and the overwhelming sense of unsatisfaction.
I have played your game
By the terms and means provided.
I am that thing that you always searched for and ignored.
So fuck you.
All you had to do was be brave maybe, and be frank
And you knew it.