The Croats are tanned,
the Swedes pink,
the Poles the color of powder.
They hoist the flags of their nations
and trundle like tiny
sweating armies under the sun.
The beer comes in big cups,
and the boats on the River Spree
glide past with music and accents
Italian, French and German.
A Finn paints himself blue
and races through the boulevard leading
to the Brandenburg Gate.
Past Poles painted red
and Dutch painted orange,
past flags snapping in trees and songs
drifting into the dusk.
A German with a Dr. Seuss hat
dyed in his native colors
sips a beer and looks to a gigantic TV
where a ball arcs towards a net
at incredible speed.
Achirri, Montpelier, VT, 06-19-2006)
(Acknowledgement: Jeffrey Fleishman, Los Angeles Times)
the Swedes pink,
the Poles the color of powder.
They hoist the flags of their nations
and trundle like tiny
sweating armies under the sun.
The beer comes in big cups,
and the boats on the River Spree
glide past with music and accents
Italian, French and German.
A Finn paints himself blue
and races through the boulevard leading
to the Brandenburg Gate.
Past Poles painted red
and Dutch painted orange,
past flags snapping in trees and songs
drifting into the dusk.
A German with a Dr. Seuss hat
dyed in his native colors
sips a beer and looks to a gigantic TV
where a ball arcs towards a net
at incredible speed.
Achirri, Montpelier, VT, 06-19-2006)
(Acknowledgement: Jeffrey Fleishman, Los Angeles Times)
Wrong poem before
Pretty damn good. so much imagery and feeling. That is like Europeans, when I am not judging them, and it is so hard not to judge them . When you cannot judge your rapist, you have either ascended to a higher spiritual plane or suffering from stockholm syndrome.
Posted by: Ma Mary | Wednesday, 17 March 2010 at 06:43 PM