for irwin jahn


dull scrawls on white spaces 
of newspaper ads.
cold coffee.
a line of vision penetrating 
the cafe window 
coming to rest against
the building across the street.

rainy day sunday.

my thoughts elasticize themselves 
to a retirement village 
in mexico 
to witness a eulogy spoken 
in the near past 
or at least 
what i think was said 
about a man who 
pulled a simple dream 
out of a hat 
made of fantasy

to die in peace 
somewhere 
where nobody will 
knife you in 
the back.

the man's a dreamer 
they said....

rainy day sunday.
thoughts coming to rest against 
the building across the street. 
cold coffee.
dull scrawls on newspaper ads. 

a picture in my wallet.

years of philosophizing 
at the same bar
locked into a single glance.