SARs (Starving artist romantics)

Stewart Grant

Tired, hungry, and frankly unappreciated

Masks do nothing for this infection

It’s in the culture

Chinaski: “The myth of the starving artist was a lie.”

Whiskey and women fuel me too

But I’m not published

I don’t wanna write I just wanna be a writer

Here’s a check for my dues, consider them paid

Just don’t cash that for about thirty years

I’m between credibility’s right now

I’m not worried, it’s temporary

My break’s on the way, writing the novel

Gonna bang out 5,000 words after work

It’s like if Fitzgerald wrote Catcher in the Rye

But with Hemmingway’s pen and Kerouac’s cool

Shopping it by August, mingling in LA by November

Riches and respect to follow

In 1982, Time hailed The Computer as its Man of the Year.  Not to be outdone, this same year Stewart Grant was born of two gallivanting socialites. Growing up in the Washington D.C suburbs, Stewart was an academic prodigy through high school who pretended in athletics.  He graduated Penn State University and remains in the State College area, composing poetry and bar-crawling with his wife, Penelope Sawyer.  His work can be read in Sam’s Dot Publishing Drabbler #14, Shoots and Vines, and Mediavirus.