CANADÆ

×

Expand

Canadae w/ no Northern America

Canada you must sew shut the gaff-pole holes
in the seal pups’ heads before the rich can be clothed.
Canada I know you’re not as bad as Germany
once was. I’ll never fly Air India with a carton
of geese eggs again. Canada don’t you know
the beaver is a pussy. Canada I refuse to take
medication for this depression when we could just
talk about it. Canada I’m the bastard born of a Fille du Roi
and a Coureur de Bois. Canada je me souviens aussi,
but when will we let Quebec out of its oubliette.
I can’t be the way you want me to be every time
Clifford Olson dangles some summer schooler over
Niagara Falls, or scientists have cloned Robert Pickton
to man our missing persons’ helplines, or Bernardo and
Homolka have Tupperwared the all-you-can-eat buffet,
or Russell Williams becomes the Colonel of Truth, his flak
jacket packed with panties and IUDs. I can’t sail out of a Bell
booth with a six-pack and pecks. Canada I can’t follow your
national food guide to save my life. Canada—where the only
difference between hockey and heroin is that with hockey you
shoot before you score. Canada when will you take the
kryptonite off Pierre Trudeau’s chest. Canada this is me being
careless in my summer swimwear. Canada what’ll happen to my
Muslim mother’s back if her airliner won’t step back on the
tarmac. Canada how can I explain this to the geese. Canada this
is me in a burkini grinding down Wreck Beach. Canada your
house of commons is like watching cats doing it doggy-style.
Canada no one should hero-worship Wolfe and Montcalm, but
aren’t First Nations really just second runners-up, and we the
winners. This is what your right believes. Canada the crow’s feet
off your eyes are trap-lines for our tears, Canada, I know you sell
their skins to America. America is tearless. Canada can’t you see
she’s a lot like us, and we like her, too much sometimes. Canada
I’d like to tarsand and feather you for not freeing Robert
Latimer sooner. When will you raise Tommy Douglas from
the dead. You’re so sorry all the time, you with all the geological
time in the world and me already rotting. Buffy Sainte-Marie
replaced my wounded knee with raven’s sinew and virgin’s dew
but Canada I’ll never outrun you. Canada this is Terry Fox
putting his wa-wa pedal to the metal. Canada there is a choir
of residential schoolchildren back-up singing everything I say,
the Dionne quintuplets are kicking a can-can, but it only makes
me want to party more. A mess of counterfeit Canadian Tire
cash on my closet floor. Neil “chaas” his Caracas as our anthem
pleads, Celine puckers at her kazoo while Joni finger-licks her
banjo’s high-tensile pots and pans, Brian sits at his drum kit and
gets on with it, but who knew that Pamela would be such
a shoo-in, pounding her beautiful face on the organ. Canada this
musical intermission does not mean my hatred is in remission.
What happens in Canada strays from Canada, our over
the counter culture. Canada the Tamil Tigers aren’t a softball
team. Canada inside each Canadian is another Canadian, inside
whom is a Canadian, in which is an alien. Canada when will your
Indian princess greet me at the lakeshore in her cornhusk crop-
top and ask me down her rabbit’s hole. Canada you’re the land
god gave to Cain. Canada I feel like another weather. Canada all
my mistakes I make for you. Canada hold still. Yes, Canada,
this my Refus Global. What me what war. Keep playing dead
Afghanada. Afghanada when I was deployed to my high school
prom I brought my wood-stocked Kalashnikov along. I am
the bullet that carries the gun on its back. My bloodstream rolls
along like a psalm. Canada slaughter is the best medicine.
America is still getting a few bugs out of the latest version of
the iRak. What happens in Canada strays from Canada. You
know we wash our cars with drinking water. Canada did you kill
Frank Cole. Dallaire’s not coming back from Rwanda it’s
sinister. Serve and get served Canada. After what you’ve done,
no wonder Newfoundland is overfishing for compliments.
Canada are you that quiet neighbour with a queue of corpses in
the deep-freeze. Do you plan to tap that or is it sovereignty or a
conservative white identity, or your hyper mediocrity that insists
on keeping the arctic ours. Canada I’m the bullet that carries
the gun on its back. Canada you’re not as bad as America is.
No one is, not even North Korea. Canada this hyperbole
is like ordering a hurricane to hoist a fainted bird to its nest
again. Canada I feel like another weather. Canada all my
mistakes I make for you. I keep my fingers as crossed as Laura
Secord’s legs that despite being human, Canada, I will be
Optimus Prime of this country. Canada this is a teleprompted
love song. Despite the bongos and bagpipes this is a serene
scene Canada. Like you, I’m too old to die young. The tabula
rasa of your Precambrian shield’s overwritten with capitalism.
There, there Canada. I’m pulling off the chloroform gag that is
your flag and begging you to part your swamp-reeds for me,
the standard-bearer of this jubilee. Your boreal banners waving
to my leave. Canada oftimes the obvious is oblivious to us.
Canada oftimes no matter how stunning they are, stars
sodomize our eyes.