Coffee With An Editor
I asked him to pick me up for coffee at eleven.
He said, “How about half past ten instead?" That was fine.
We were on our way and he asked if I would lower my window;
Only about half way, so I did.
He stopped and bought some gas on the way too;
A half tank, I recall.
Afterward, we parked near the coffee shop on 16 de Septiembre;
Roughly a half block away.
During coffee, he inquired as to whether I was an organized writer
Or simply proceeding half-cocked.
Getting into the spirit of the morning, I shot back,
“My efforts are not at all half-hearted. I’m doing quite well, thank you”
Over coffee, he jokingly claimed to be about half dead with his editing,
I handed him my newly-written article anyway.
Peering over his bifocals, he read my story
For what seemed, pardon the expression, an L.A. half life.
Finished, he met my glance….halfway, of course,
Declaring, “It needs revision if I’m to print it.”
Perturbed, I snapped at him, “Why’s that?”
And now, based on the foregoing, you already know his reply, don’t you?
“It should be cut, my friend,” he declared.
“Cut in half, I would say.”
Now I ask myself,
How could I have been so half-witted?;
So half-assed not to have known exactly what he would say?
Determined not to cut the story but to somehow publish, I considered calling the “other editor” in town, but then, as they say……
“Six of one……………………………”