A Hemingway Vignette
The dust hung wearily around
as he stepped out into the merciless sun.
It hit him. He felt good.
Then he remembered the fear inside him
and his guts were numb with it.
He turned to look up the deathly street
to where the other man stood –
and the other man stood without fear
and he wondered if he appeared like that
to the other man.
They both just stood there for a few moments.
Then he felt his hand move, by instinct, to the cold steel.
But he was too late.
He was hot
and then he was gone.
by Phil Brown
Copyright © Phil Brown