Anne Frank House

There's no way to prop up the bright bouquets
next to the statue of the little girl
and so they strew the pavement, roll away
in stiff spring breezes. Amsterdam unfurls

like banners advertising the immense
and undigestible bite of "van Gauche"
the tourists try to swallow, or the dense
sweet cannabis smoke trailing from the roach

of an attractive boy who, leaning out
his Westerkerk-view window, simply stares
at coltish German teenagers who shout
and tussle till they climb the secret stairs

to where she waited, where she tried to sleep.
Beside the Prinsengracht, I start to weep.