Is that a boy or a girl
she’s flirting across
the table with, sharing
a plate and pix on a phone?
Why do I care? He has
long hair but seems slight
from behind. She clearly
cares for him without
caring if he’s a man.
Maybe he’s not. At this
angle I can’t see if there
is more hair on his face
than a woman would
allow herself. When they
leave, they share the bill.
***
The third day in Berlin, deep in the throes of jet lag with all the good and bad that entails, I stumbled onto a wonderful little Kneipe on the Oranienburger Str, Meilenstein. I sat down on the short leg of the bar with a view on everything and read. Jotted down this poem, plus one in German (in the holding zone for the moment). Drank too much Riesling. The next day was a total waste. In Truth Serum.