a life that canadian
trackin the slush into gas station bathrooms
deep in quebecois darkness
eyein the empties for the money they could be
if they weren’t smashed and pissed on
swearing at the pull of the suburbs
from the back seat in that creaky old sedan
tasting the saliva on your scarf waiting for the bus
wondering how much they make at the cbc
writing it all down in a secret book
that you’d burn in a minute
watching the sun set in the mountains
leaning on your parking lot push broom
and drinking and drinking and drinking
and never admitting to getting drunk

working some job
twisting it up in some philosophical scheme of yours
scratching the lotto tickets with a vicious quarter
and eyeing the kids bmx bikes
and it’s mostly gravel off the transcanada

somehow it’s always evening
thinking about the women in the neighbourhood
thinking about a book you’re reading
thinking about a cheaper apartment
but you do like the fire escape in the summer
with a 10 cent sliver of sunset and the promise of the ocean
that is the common property of us all
canada is something left over from kindgergarten
and something at the bottom of a bottle of imported beer

it’s a long drive to anywhere else
it’s a long drive to anyone I know
they’re out there
there’s no poetry too sordid now
the price of cigarrettes goes
province to province province to province