Page 40 - Contrast1999

Christmas in Amsterdam

Cold cobblestones shuffle
Slowly by under
My numb feet and mind.
The sweet pungent smoke drifts
Lazily from cafe windows, and
Mingles with the breath of
The pushers and pimps,
Clustered by bridges
Over the blue isolated waters
Of the choked canals.

The warm murmur
Of voices, foreign and strange,
Float from the smoked-
Glass window of the cafe,
Inviting me, and, desperate
To be part of the nourishing
Laughter, to heat my feet,
And ease my mind, I escape
The desolation of the streets.

The tingle in my toes
Begins to grow as bright
Flames softly dance
In the fireplace.
A large Douglas fir
The first I had seen, nestles
In the comer, its branches
Sagging, laden with tinsel
And hand-carved glass orbs.
I have a Heineken
And a smoke, and listen
To the group of fat, jovial
Germans near the tree, straining
To hear, to be a part.

Seeing me, somehow Mists of seawater hanging The cold of the frozen city
Sensing my need, In the still black air Engulfs me, draining
They rise and sing, Absorb the curls of noise my warmth and tugs
And smoke which follow me out at my mind as I plough
o Tannanbaum, Through the door of the bar. slowly along the cobblestones
Once more.
In loud, drunken, stoned
German voices. We all stare,
With grinning amusement,
And slowly join in,
In our native tongues,
Laughing and cheering.

Robert Ward