We don’t talk
On the tram, these multitudes,
vacant stares, captive stares,
encased in ourselves, hard as a rock,
keeping our precious self deep inside, for us,
for we dare not show weakness
in our civilized mound of savagery,
lest we become victims ourselves
of the ravenous beasts we thought extinct
so long -and yet never- ago.
Hundreds of times I’ve rode thee,
oh tricentennial tram,
and yet I can count the times
when someone looked at me candidly
and started a conversation “just because”
on the fingers of a single hand.
Mayhap I am fortunate then
that I still have all my fingers,
but I personally think myself lucky
for meeting a middle-aged Amsterdam woman
who knew that our captive stares
and our captive hearts
may be set free
with nothing but a kind word.