Hemingway’s Shotgun

Stevenson made my bed
Into a sailing ship
And he spun tales
Of pirates and gold
Out of the foam of the sea

As time passed on
He introduced me
To Kipling, Stoker, and Poe
And we had many
Fine adventures together
Through Britain, jungles, and crypts

Though they are quiet
In their wooden cupboard
I am anxious for the day
That we will make
My daughter’s bed
Into a ship that we’ll all sail again

(Julie Scott is a professional proofreader who occasionally crafts pieces of her own. When not herding cats for Perrero or The Festering Swamp, she likes to offer unsolicited opinions on other people’s websites, which is, thankfully, acceptable behavior these days.)