At the opulent party of boutique denim
I ask a lovely woman—where are your poor,
Your mentally ill?
She tells me she works with the underprivileged daily
And I see in the jewels of her eyes—
The Dutch take care of their own
Beyond the crowned glory of canals and cobblestone
Unseen by our nation of selfies.
When you live among 400-year-old buildings
What’s to fear?
You’re here for a few moments of glory and woe
So you put your three children
in a bucket on your bike
and ride joyously
into the open arms of the day.