Wind Chill

Toronto is all like
let’s have September in the middle of December this year
so the temperature goes up to 17°C
and all the trees start wondering
if maybe they should put out some buds sometime soon

Lethbridge is all like
and everybody puts on three parkas
and dreams of spring

Lovely Day

What a lovely day it is
all cloudy and cool
and now you are complaining that Toronto is so grey
and flinging your hands dramatically to the sky because of the greyness
and I say
in Vancouver
between September and May
the sun is absolutely
resolutely out of sight
and I don’t mean just lurking behind light clouds
I mean completely invisible
to the extent that we can’t tell where it is in the sky
and then when it reappears in late spring
we all gaze up at it
in puzzlement and awe
and go
so that’s what that looks like

but yes
do complain about those clouds
which stuck around for three hours and let the sun through occasionally
it’s all very tragic
and you are quite right to despair

Ode to a Dead Raccoon Left to Rot on the Sidewalk at the Corner of Church and Yonge for Fourteen Hours at the Height of Summer

You went too soon
little bandit of nighttime splendour
with your tiny clever paws
and your fundamental understanding
of your place in the vastness of the universe

When you cast off your mortal shell
and left it at Church and Yonge
so you could fly free as a philosophical disembodied space entity
or whatever
the people of Toronto paid tribute
with flowers and candles
and even a card

You were worth it
small swift arbiter of universal grief and madness
and though we are kind of sorry we mocked you
we also believe it was not mockery
but a celebration of your rich and giddy life
plus maybe a bit of sarcasm
directed at the city workers who left you to rot on the sidewalk for fourteen hours

Sleep well
minuscule champion of garbage-can-lid negotiation
and let the words of the city worker who finally picked you up
stand forever as your epitaph:
“Seriously, guys, it’s a dead raccoon.”

wise city worker
and so the world
turns on
into morning



Original story


All hail to the majesty
of the Toronto subway!
Steeped in metaphor
imbued with majesty
cupped gently
in the caressing hands of poetry
it snakes through the tunnels
like a snake
that is extremely large
and filled with living people

the snake pauses for some reason
and the caressing hands of poetry
raise mighty middle fingers
to the travellers

All hail to the chaos
of the shuttle buses
which are crowded and smelly
and ultimately unnecessary
as the subway is snaking again
by the time they groan their way
into Jane Station