Dear Nanton Angels:

you are like a hurricane* have shaken off
your cave-lives (like Charlie Olson)* okay, you’re
like TWO hurricanes* you are the track-star who
never left town, the undead Madame Curie in her
dressing gown* you are, you are*

you’re the dust on those mints, unwitting onion
breath* you are poolside, fireside* passing pleasant,
the Night Desk*

beware the retard in the dollar store!
beware the Thane of Red Deer!
learn the Moloitch which wards off the lecherous baker!

dear Country, Blue-grass, Blues;

i am the river of poisoned fish* the nuclear
refinery’s argument for existence* i am 70 trains a day
over the rickety viaduct where Jim Bradford (my gr. 3 teacher)
killed himself* i’m the dandruff on the veteran’s navy collar*

i am lead in the barrel of the City Hall gun*
i am a coke and pinch of dark rum*
i am the graveyard*
that became a school*
then condos*
yielding skulls*,
ribs & jaws*;
i am renovations*
made recent*
to our virtuous laws*;
i am the neurotoxin*
in children’s*
playground logs*;
i am the divorcee*
who’s happier*
with her dogs*

i am the Smith’s Creek Killer*
(of beers & TV dinner*)

* selah, just so.


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