First Day Poem by Joseph Martin III

Eyes squinting in the golden glare
of Amsterdam's morning sun,
a thousand diamonds shimmering
in every windowpane.

Ankles twist and crack
on old cobblestones
through the curving spiral of streets
surely designed by madmen.

Along the Damrak trams
sing their clattering song.
Blowing like a breeze from cafes,
a clinking of cups on saucers
and glimpses of curious conversation
from strange new people with lives
concealed behind a foreign tongue.

Crazy boy with a steamer trunk
and a pocketful of dreams.
You want to be someone.

Too bad they don't sell
identities at the airport gate.

4/1996, rev 9/2004