A Bit Off
You said you'd wear pins on your jacket lapel
of whatever you thought would make a difference
in the shade-blue of a thoughtful think piece
read between the lines of a free Quebecor paper,
and the Globe and Mail subscription list of takers
and makers, and it took 'til twenty-two coming to
grips with it all.
But that's just fine because of the election buttons
and fair weather friends' jackets in cold.
It's just a giant comedy with the upwardly mobile
civil service and the bass guitar tabs, where I
order a Subway sandwich between classes and
hop the Via cars on weekends.
It's just a giant tragedy with the young millionaires'
club, where I can't come into champagne flutes
so I pump my feeble fists to DMX chants and stick
an LCBO bag under my arm and resist the
urge to crack open the Czechvar bottles with
the opener I got from Heineken promoter at
the last honest day of work I had, right in
front of OC Transpo ticket takers, and the people who'd
say
“You are something, by being nothing, aren't you?”
It's just giant romance between an old
heart and barely-heated bus shelter.
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