March

the month of the death of winter

the night he died there was lightning and a full moon

I knew it was only a matter of time since that dream

I had of him saying he had a flight to catch

Old mister young's alone

finally gone away

sits under a palm tree

staring at the ocean

lost in the off season

of his half crippled steps

strange the things people dump

on the side of the road

I've never seen any trash

dumped around Amsterdam

there it's all about

what god can't see

if you put the garbage out

on the wrong day they

tear through it looking

for anything

with your name on it

even the Nieuwmarkt's junkieless

the Red Light Districts's

half mannequins people

move next to bars and complain

about the noise

strange the things people dump

on the side of the road