on a sunlit cafe terrace

by the oude kerk's shadow

a child chain-smoked

amid banal psychoanalysis

while monks in off-white

lined the nearby bridge

posing for tourists

near red lights and slick

green piss that curled

like tombstones in the gutter

that afternoon

the bell tolled just once

an entire minute too soon

no one rolled in their grave

time just moved on

sturdy as ever