Gene McCormick


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Appearing in Summer 2008 Pegasus

Soup’s On

 Entering the restaurant

his body filled the door frame,

his shadow carpeting the foyer.

Hunger came calling.

Quietly he ordered his food,

and ate his soup with his head

bent over so close to the bowl

that he had only to twist his wrist

to put the soupspoon to his mouth.

No worry about spilling on his sweatshirt;

when the soup overlapped the spoon

it dripped directly back into the bowl.

Recycling, sustaining.

A full stomach.

A good ending.











Appearing in issue #18 of Backstreet

Hemingway and Me

Seated at the table to my right:

a sociable business lunch—the men

loud, full of verbal bravado,

the women covertly flirtatious

except for one woman who

ate quietly, staring at her plate.

No promotion in sight for her.


Two people behind me were

talking in stage whispers so you

know they are conversing,

but not exactly about what.

I think they were discussing

how to make Jello.

For chrissakes, I coulda told them

boil some water, add the Jello mix,

stick it in the refrigerator.

I’d like to think they were really

discussing Jello wrestling.


Four older ladies in front of my booth

divided their bill and got up to leave.

One of them turned and looked at me.

“You look so lonely,” she said and I

answered “What are you suggesting?”

She laughed. Two of her companions

sort of snorted (I think they were very

close companions). “You should mind

your own business, Alice,” said the

woman next to her.

Shook my head no, smiled.

Alice needed her three friends

for a quorum of a relationship.

All I required was an interesting book.

You don’t get lonely reading Hemingway.




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