stand up

you read
somewhere
that Hemmingway
liked to write
standing up
at his tall desk.
he tapped away
at his
manual
typewriter,
inserting sheet
after sheet
dispensing
sparse words
and declarative
sentences
onto the crisp
blank pages.
perhaps he had
a bad back
from reeling in
sword fish
off the florida
keys,
or bull fighting
in barcelona
or maybe he wanted
to be ready
and alert
in case he
had to put on
his boxing gloves
and punch
someone for not
being manly enough,
or perhaps one
of his many beloved
cats
was sitting
in his chair,
or his wife
or mistress, or
his twelve gauge
shotgun.