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Engrossing Amsterdam
Grand auntie raced and ran in Amsterdam
To catch, (if lucky), a connecting flight,
To JFK, in New York State, but damn,
The plane from Vienna had arrived too late.
Her loved ones left behind, - Oh what distress!
A dire situation once they’d gone,
Vexatious so, sad and calamitous,
They’d stayed behind and she was left alone.
First thing, she had to find “Gate F-Fourteen“,
From there she would continue then her flight,
But “F-Fourteen” was nowhere to be seen,
And auntie ran, and clutched her papers tight.
To miss connecting flights can be sheer hell,-
Fatality,- for airplanes do not wait,
No matter how in running you excel,
It is a catastrophe if you are late.
It’s hard to say fare-well to those you love,
But being trapped in Amsterdam besides,
Is anguish most don’t contemplate enough-.
It would transform to wasps the sweetest brides.
Immense the crowds that enter, leave and come,
And seek to find their flight departure gate,
A moving alley rolls in Amsterdam
The passengers as does a roller skate.
Its penance on a strip like this to roll,
If you don’t know where it will take you to,
But penance is propitious for the soul.
And wholesome perhaps trips into the blue.
This rolling strip does passengers convey
From south to north, and then from east to west,
Lost Souls!- Lost Souls- to Limbo underway,
While clutching boarding passes to their breast.
Like on a boat to River Styx they roll
Inevitably towards no-where’s land,
No information desks nor signs around,
They roll – transfixed - a suitcase in the hand.
Where are we rolling to? aunt asked a guest:
"I know not” the kind lady did reply,
“I guess we are rolling in direction west,
That’s were they say the aircraft hangars lie".
"They have from time to time to do repair.
You know some passengers are overweight,
And seats do suffer with the wear and tear
But don’t you need to find a certain gate"?
Poor auntie pushed the lady now aside,
“My flight connection may have left, I fear",
And with resources left behind she cried
And wiped from her wet cheek a furtive tear.
Three Euros in the wallet left,- malheur
The green backs could not be resorted to,
No currency exchange bank anywhere,
Oh! stressful can be trips into the blue.
No placards, monitors nor airline staff,
No notice boards nor any kind of sign,
Perhaps they did not have of them enough,
Or moved them to the new-built airport shrine.
“Monsieur -you know where “Gate F-Fourteen" is?”
Aunt asked a fellow standing in a line,-
“No Ma’m, - I don’t, - this one is bound for Greece,
And "Gate F-Twelve" they say for Palestine”.
"This line is not for Greece but for Madrid,
Have you not seen that fellow by the bar
Who had a drink and passionately hit
The neck of a Flamenco type guitar”.
"You are mistaken,- it's for Budapest”,
“It is for Budapest this line is bound.
That's where the gypsy fiddlers fiddle best,
And in cafes the czardash tunes resound”
“Mistaken Sir, it is for Bucharest,
Where tourists go in circles round and round
To find the hideout on some mountain crest
Where ballerinas kiss the Werewolf Count.
But suddenly a big tumult arose,
A wide girthed man had started up a brawl,
That left his partner with a bloodied nose,
About an issue theological.
The man raised up his arms triumphantly,
“Fop! he cried out:- don’t quarrel with me man !
This line's for Rome, come over here and see,
I have appointments at the Vatican”.
Both left the line to seek a waiting hall,
To carry on their dispute over there,
And carried on their so divisive brawl,
That later veered to Britain’s Tony Blair.
"I need Gate F-Fourteen!”,- in wild despair
Aunt shrieked “It is Gate F-Fourteen I need
To catch my flight, I do not really care
About darned lines and whereto they may lead!".
“I am sure that line is not for Bucharest,
An hefty man spoke out - this is quite clear.
It's bound for Germany's October Fest,
For Munich and the festival of beer!”
Where is “Gate F-Fourteen”? - grand auntie cried-
“Got an idea Sir where it could be?”
“I have no clue, the gentleman replied,
I need the Stockholm Gate,- F-Twenty-Three.
Aunt looked for information desks and ran,
Against time left, - her aircraft would depart
In minutes 5-or 6 and auntie spun,
With speed towards a kiosk luggage cart.
“I need “Gate F-Fourteen” she now screamed loud,-
“Gate F-Fourteen!” - hear all! oyez!- hear! hear!”-
She shrilled above the heads of large a crowd,
And bumped into some fellows drinking beer.
But Providence took charge,- she felt a tap
Upon her shoulder: - “Over there Madame“!-
“Look to the tunnel they are opening up,--
They open tunnels late in Amsterdam“.
A tunnel’s mouth, -the entrance,- opened wide,
And auntie took a breath and then hopped in.
And after being asked - was she alright,
Was told that she had found “Gate F-Fourteen“.
The airplane taxied, then propellers spun,
The craft now leaving Amsterdam soared high,
To windmills, tulips and darn Amsterdam
A vexed and weary auntie said “Good-bye“.
.
Elizabeth Dandy
8/5/04
"This line is not for Greece but for Madrid,
Have you not seen that fellow by the bar
Who had a drink and passionately hit
The neck of a Flamenco type guitar”.
"You are mistaken,- it's for Budapest”,
“It is for Budapest this line is bound.
That's where the gypsy fiddlers fiddle best,
And in cafes the czardash tunes resound”
“Mistaken Sir, it is for Bucharest,
Where tourists go in circles round and round
To find the hideout on some mountain crest
Where ballerinas kiss the Werewolf Count.
But suddenly a big tumult arose,
A wide girthed man had started up a brawl,
That left his partner with a bloodied nose,
About an issue theological.
The man raised up his arms triumphantly,
“Fop! he cried out:- don’t quarrel with me man !
This line's for Rome, come over here and see,
I have appointments at the Vatican”.
Both left the line to seek a waiting hall,
To carry on their dispute over there,
And carried on their so divisive brawl,
That later veered to Britain’s Tony Blair.
"I need Gate F-Fourteen!”,- in wild despair
Aunt shrieked “It is Gate F-Fourteen I need
To catch my flight, I do not really care
About darned lines and whereto they may lead!".
“I am sure that line is not for Bucharest,
An hefty man spoke out - this is quite clear.
It's bound for Germany's October Fest,
For Munich and the festival of beer!”
Where is “Gate F-Fourteen”? - grand auntie cried-
“Got an idea Sir where it could be?”
“I have no clue, the gentleman replied,
I need the Stockholm Gate,- F-Twenty-Three.
Aunt looked for information desks and ran,
Against time left, - her aircraft would depart
In minutes 5-or 6 and auntie spun,
With speed towards a kiosk luggage cart.
“I need “Gate F-Fourteen” she now screamed loud,-
“Gate F-Fourteen!” - hear all! oyez!- hear! hear!”-
She shrilled above the heads of large a crowd,
And bumped into some fellows drinking beer.
But Providence took charge,- she felt a tap
Upon her shoulder: - “Over there Madame“!-
“Look to the tunnel they are opening up,--
They open tunnels late in Amsterdam“.
A tunnel’s mouth, -the entrance,- opened wide,
And auntie took a breath and then hopped in.
And after being asked - was she alright,
Was told that she had found “Gate F-Fourteen“.
The airplane taxied, then propellers spun,
The craft now leaving Amsterdam soared high,
To windmills, tulips and darn Amsterdam
A vexed and weary auntie said “Good-bye“.
.
Elizabeth Dandy
8/5/04
