Amsterdam Sights 1974 Poem by Terry Collett

Amsterdam was our last port of call.
We set up our tents at the base camp
and went into the city. We went and
saw the Van Gogh art; had a coffee at

some cafe. Went to Anne Frank's
House, sensed the ghosts. You were
dressed in jeans and that white tee shirt,
and had your hair tied up in a ponytail

with a blue ribbon. You talked angrily
of the Yank girl who had been in your
tent the last few days. Always on about
the men in her life as if I cared birdshit,

you said. We visited another museum
and another cafe. Some German guy took
our photograph; he spoke good English.
We got back to base camp and showered.

I lay in my tent reading the Solzhenitsyn
book on labour camps in Soviet Russian.
The Aussie guy was elsewhere getting his
leg over. With whom I didn't know, wasn't

you, maybe the Yank girl, maybe the girl
with the fish face. I closed the book: it was
too depressing. You came into my tent and
we started undressing.