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Oct 2018
Karla told me to give up art.
You really aren't very good at it, she said,
And suggested I take up drinking full time, instead.

At least with a beer in your hand,
You project a sense of purpose, she said
Even if it's only to empty the glass.

But your poems ramble on forever,
Your short stories always stop in the middle,
Maybe you should combine the two, she suggested
And blew her cigar smoke down the front of my sweater.

We will call them stoems she said and laughed,
And challenged me to a push up contest,
Right there on the dance floor.

I declined, she knew I would,
Then let's dance with our backs to each other, she said,
And defend this art of yours, silly puzzles no one can comprehend.
Karla is a strong woman. A bit of a ***** but she talks to me straight. Which is interesting because I think in hair pin turns and mud puddles. I love her dearly. And she owes me money. Which I know I will never see. I don't care.
Hank Helman
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Hank Helman
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