Poem by Paul Hapenny

Illustration by James Conant



The Amsterdam Flower Market

I staggered
into
the Amsterdam Flower Market
from the east
the greasy Dutch dawn spitting drizzle
in my face

Drunk on cheap slibovitz
ativan
and self loathing
I watched two men
old and young
maybe father and son
unloading a wooden cart of
gorgeous purple and pink
and red and yellow and
blue and fuck knows what else
tulips

They didn’t talk
Didn’t they see
the beauty after beauty after beauty
that slowly chewed Van Gogh’s mind
or
are they like the dead eyed whore
in the neon window
opening her red light legs
at 5 am
hoping to snare a drunken tourist
like me
I offered her five Euros
out of pity
she told me in three languages
to stick the five Euros
up my condescending Yankee ass

The bottle was empty
vomit spilled
with self loathing
the men never talking
old and young
like a father and son
took the cart away leaving the
gorgeous purple and pink
and red and yellow and
blue and fuck knows what else
tulips

I couldn’t speak
but I could see
the beauty after beauty after beauty
that slowly chewed my mind
and what I thought was
Dutch dawn drizzle
were my tears

I staggered
off
past salvation of the Oude Kerk
praying for
a dead eyed whore
with red light legs
to pity