Globetrotter

a

       toronto is
       amsterdam
                adrift at sea

       it breathes the open atlantic
               where lines and angles blur
                                      and bend into mist

     toronto is
       prague
                          without her anchoring of

       narrow streets narrow sky
                          and
       virgin-tight apartment blocks

it is london long-jumping
        her imperial shadows
                           trafalgar-ing into space

b

       in winter the north comes
                to visit
        without her lights

       not even scheviningen
           could breathe
                    such bone-bending blasts

       sir winter
                    gruff arthritic old braggart
        with woolly mane

                                               is that snow on his head

       or is it soyinka's hair
fluorescent against the night

                                            of africa's dark politician

       as we sit in deusseldorf
       in a foyer of smoked hotelled wine
       and eye the question

c

       photographer
       you have no perspective
       wide as the autobahn

       between scarborough and etobicoke
       where the roads scream and cry
rubber rubber

                                     tears long as a calendar year

           and look where the streetcar has left a scar
                          in the brush flower
             as it goes berlin-ing around queens avenue

       the white-draped reichstag is not here
       there should be no hurry to undress it
                                                     with tourist eyes

d

       what does the endless
                                north american sky
                           reveal

       like those sex-workers
in amsterdam's love quarters
                       she says simply

                                                  i am wide open

       so the street car becomes a tram
      in slow phallic rush on lan van meerdevort
                    in the hague

                                flirting foolishly with the horizon

                    the red-light flashes
                       where there are no red-light districts

       the streetcar

                                                                               stops

       to gaze at lovers
       trundling down the avenue
                       down dundas

                           heavy with love and its weights

       to eaton center
       where hearts pump more round
       from the fondling and folding of love's caress

e

       amongst the ruin and jazz
                           of the old distillery
                    young Toronto

                       steps outside of troy
                    in full teenage glare
                            hair streaked with lightening

       because a girl smells better…
                she brushes a suitor's kiss
           and the sun off her thundering skin

                                               where all colours meet.

© Amatoritsero Ede