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Poetry
by Anita Dolman
Canada
Canada, there’s no one left who isn’t here already. We slogged to your shores by
mukluk and boatload to steal your thunder, and we have.
Canada, there’s no boom in your swing anymore. Just a steady, nasal drip.
Canada, my people came from lowlands, and we’re sick of drowning in your mists.
Canada, your profile said you were taller than this.
Canada, stop sitting there taking it. Stand up for yourself, you patsy.
Canada, no one cares about your existential angst.
Canada, we are not amused.
Canada, I don’t mean to worry you, but have you always had that mole there?
Canada, stop your bloody whining. America never loved you,
and you’re better off without her. Everybody knows
she was only doing you because you were next door,
and you have no self-esteem.
Canada, Big Business is saying your railroad can’t get it up anymore.
Canada, we both know how long it’s been since your last spike.
Canada, it’s fucking cold up here, and this
snow’s not melting fast enough, if you ask me.
Canada, what do a few more dead seals matter? You
killed thousands of them with your dragnets and firearms;
you’re just complaining because it’s not as much fun this way.
Poor Canada: “My buffalo are all gone. Boo hoo.”
Canada, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re run by a minority.
Canada, if I still had an ice floe …
Canada, I’m so grateful I’m a white woman
so I can just be medicated instead of missing.
Canada, I don’t believe you anymore.
Canada, my parents came here with twenty bucks in 1960,
but it’s gonna cost a lot more than that to bury them below the permafrost.
Canada, they never went on welfare, so how about we make a deal, eh?
Canada, your food banks are stocked with Cheezies
and broken promises.
Canada, I think we forgot to pay the hydro bill.
Canada, you’re kind of cute when you get angry.
Canada, I’ve heard that you go both ways, too.
Don’t pretend you’ve never done this before.
Canada, you’re doing alright for your age,
except for the fur in your ears, and the wheezing.
Canada, you should always carry protection;
don’t go thinking it can’t happen to you.
Canada, you’re not too big to fail.
Canada, watch out for the junkies;
they’re the only ones who really understand you.
Canada, I stole the idea for this poem from a dead American.
Canada, I’m not sorry.
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[Distillate © HA&L + Anita Dolman {from the Greek bios} -- the course of a life.]
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