Sherlock

I am 27 digging in a
Third basement down
In an Edinburgh Scotland
Bookstore where I unearth
A copy of an early Sherlock
Holmes compendium of murder
Mysteries which I take back to
London unable to stop myself
From reading one story after
Another while looking for
Further volumes until at
1 am at night in my flat
Of shadows at 10?
Gloucester Place
I put down my
Book on Mr.
Holmes
Then
Get dressed
Walk north till
Turning right at
The tobacconist
Newspaper stand
Deserted so late at
Night then a few steps
East to Baker Street and
Looking northeast into dark
I observe Baker Street to see
221-B where Sherlock and Dr.
Watson lived in Conan’s stories
And the fiction becomes close to
Real past midnight in the dim
Light of street lamps then I
Retrace my steps to my
One-room flat aware
That good literature
Well written can be
As real as history
Past midnight
In London
In July
1973.
A
Few
Years
Later in
A heavy fog
Cutting across
Hyde Park past
Marble Arch walking
East I near Baker Street
At night and notice a tall
Slim man in a deerstalker
Cap hurrying along as I
Gawk at him as if I had
Seen the ghost of a
Literary character
Too real to rule
Out as the
Great
Detective
But I am too
Shy to yell
Hello to
Sherlock
In the fog.