A jackal wanders into my kitchen, he is scrounging for some meat. It is late in the afternoon, the sun hidden behind the roof of the neighbour’s house, and so I see the jackal approaching without any glare, no fanfare--no love lost between us two; he the beast, I the custodian waiting to dole his daily treat. It is a wiry willow in my front yard that sways beneath the April stars. And in this hemisphere we call West, we pretend it best to ask discreetly at the bar-rails—please Mr. Sneeze, can I have the bathroom keys, I really need to take a whiz. Hey there; sure just give me a sec, as I look around the register—Reggie puts the keys there, I bet. I met a man crawling on his way to meet the Pope, so I encouraged him to sweep all the dust out of his coat.

for Steve Moore

You got beat up bad
Real real uncool
What that Bertuzzi goon did
We’re thinking of you
In your time of trial
We know you’ll make it back
In just a little while

No comments: