Found Poem:Hemingway, Aging Jackass, Brags To Lillian Ross About Killing Small Birds Poem by Doug Lane

About seventy people live on Torcello,
and the men are professional duck hunters.
While there, Hemingway went duck-hunting a lot
with the gardener of the old inn.
"We'd go around through the canals and jump-shoot,
and I'd walk the prairies at low tide for snipe, " he said.
"It was a big fly route for ducks
that came all the way down from the Pripet Marshes.
I shot good and thus became a respected local character.
They have some sort of little bird that comes through,
after eating grapes in the north,
on his way to eat grapes in the south.
The local characters sometimes shot them sitting,
and I occasionally shot them flying.
Once, I shot two high doubles, rights and lefts, in a row,
and the gardener cried with emotion.
Coming home, I shot a high duck against the rising moon
and dropped him in the canal.
That precipitated an emotional crisis
I thought I would never get him out of but did,
with about a pint of Chianti.
We each took a pint out with us.
I drank mine to keep warm coming home.
He drank his when overcome by emotion."
We were silent for a while, and then Hemingway said,
"Venice was lovely."