by Jim Holmes

about the author: Jim Holmes was a sweet man, a very youthful "older" leather dude out of Holland academia. He was known to hold poetry readings for biker groups. He also published poetry under the pen name Jacob Lowland. We met only a few times, but he left a warm and strong memory. -gcb



The door at the Black Jail
buzzes open.

I start to walk in.
Then I see you.

A flashbulb goes off
in my brain.

You're on your way out; you
bump up against me.

"Sorry, sir, please forgive me
for being so rude, sir."

The studs on yr dog collar glisten
in the gunmetal light.

Then you raise yr head & yr eyes
shyly look into mine.

Yr eyes are smiling;
mine too I think.

Karl calls over to me
& I break our gaze;

you drop yr eyes &
walk on out.

I've never seen you around before;
will I ever again?

As I talk to Karl this picture
starts to develop.

I split without even finishing
a single beer.

I check out all the other
possible places:

Eagle (no), Jeans Bar (dammit),

Y're noplace; the night
is an absolute bummer.

I end up drunk & in
bed with another guy

& I think: y're there
in this black Bavarian night;

will I ever
see those boogers again?

That was last night;
right now

I'm airborne halfway from
Munich to Amsterdam.

I sit in my cramped
tourist-type seat;

I close my eyes
and examine the photograph:

finger the crinkly edges,
look at yr smiling eyes.

The picture is underexposed,
the colors already fading.

The blond steward interrupts me
with a cup of Lufthansa coffee.

His mouth wears a Lufthansa smile;
his eyes are gunmetal gray & dead.