Smoked Meat

in the shadows of Elliot Trudeau
grafitti dumpster a cliche routine
I was trying to understand the CFL
with my Molson, Tots and Poutine

but you had to come in take the stool by my side
an empty bar so many choices
but belly up to me you’d decide
than with your scarf and brainy voice
you would scoff and you. you had to chide
how is it that I bothered you
when it wasn’t I who came from outside?

As if the Sun is to be blamed for extinguishing the night

when you slinked back out to grab a smoke
no cameras around and you didn’t have a phone
looking up from the trash see the airbus has flown
in the cold still winter air hear the highway moan
I am the island in the city of Mary
and I should have been left alone

I have found things for which I am loyal
my precision. my love. my kills
looking down from up on Mount Royal
the seagulls circle your landfills

you can have a brother or a wife
and not know them til their funeral day
it’s easy not to notice in life
it’s easy not to hear what they’d say
they will know you now friend by my knife
pass the Schwartz’s, S’il vous plaît?