Friday, April 29, 2016

poem of the day 04.29.16

fat american kids
at the anne frank house (amsterdam)

they’re running circles
around me and my wife
and everyone else whose standing out here
like we’re going to a rock concert
instead of  going where eight people hid from the nazis
they have us queued in a tight pack
near the church where rembrandt is buried
or where he buried his old lady
i don’t honestly remember
all i know is these kids are getting on my nerves
two pasty, tow-headed cherubs
with their midwestern elongated a’s
and two wisconsin t-shirts wrapped around their fat bellies
americans always want you to know where they’re from
when they travel overseas
jetlagged and in need of a drink
i’ve already seen two new york yankees hats
and some shithead in a pittsburgh steelers jersey
but these kids, good christ
their parents must have them hopped up on something
all of the chocolate and sugary waffles i’ve seen here
they can’t keep still
and the old lady is giving it to the old man
about where they’re going to have dinner
while the kids run around jumping on shit
that’s older than their shitty state
saying things like, why do we have to visit the house
of some dumb girl who died?
the little fuckers
and their parents don’t even have a reason
the old man shrugs
and dear old mom keeps complaining about where
they can take the kids to shove some food
down their fat faces
i’ve already checked wisconsin off the list
of places that i’ll ever chance to go
and if this line weren’t so long
i’d say fuck it and see if the wife wants to
go and dig up rembrandt’s bones
or find some place sans children
where we can get a stiff drink
but anne frank is important
it’s important to see important things i’m told
i often tear up in front of van gogh
and i’ve almost seen the grave of william shakespeare
plus, now the boy is trying to frog hop
these metal poles they have all over amsterdam
to keep the sidewalk separate from the street
there’s a good chance he’ll land wrong
and crush his nuts
or maybe even smack his jaw on it
bite off his tongue and break a few teeth
if nothing else
at least that ought to be worth the price
of admission
and the precious traveler time lost
to see that little abomination
rolling on the pavement all bloody and broken
while standing in this line with the ghost of anne frank
and a bottle of vodka
on my mind.


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