I SWEAR THEY WERE
WEARING CLOGS
Like visitors from Holland on a New York
City bus, the groups came off the ramp
singing - some wistful, local hit back
home, they said. I'd swear I heard the
wooden shoes. They wore tulips on
their belt-buckles and had pride in
every step. I was ashamed to say I'd
always mixed them up. Holland?
Belgium? Netherlands? The Hague?
Which was which, and which was this?
My heart, already shrunken with the
embarrassment of fear, wanted to linger
and talk, but I got out of there.
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