The book of short stories sat opened
on a page of endless dialogue,
the author having chosen
to portray his characters
through spoken word
and not by action or deed.

The book of short stories sat opened
while the reader, tired
of absorbing dialogue, chose
to take a break to write
a scene for himself,
A curious action indeed.

As in Michel Tremblay’s “Belles-Soeurs,”
he wanted an act in which
the actors spoke freely.
But unlike “Hills LIke White Elephants”
he had not one ounce of
Hemingway’s skill.

The book of short stories sat opened
on the table beside the bottle
of scotch and the carton
of smokes next to the paper
on which twas written
“Writing bloody kills.”