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
“You are something, by being nothing, aren't you?”
It's just giant romance between an old
heart and barely-heated bus shelter.