Those of you in America who think Canada is a safe haven for socialists should think twice. Hence is my tale of a speech for Prime Minister Stephen Harper, a classic neo-con who is slashing every public program in sight.


In the cold Canadian night
I write with my red Shelley
on the keyboard
along with the French Revolution
from our think tank of revivals
A speech for you in Parliament
A speech that will reclaim you
as the people’s poet
As snowflakes fall
into their own shadows

May the factory workers speak with you
May the strike force find you naked

In the cold Canadian night
We will make you a fellow traveller
Ragged from coast to coast
Upon a cheap guitar
As you attire yourself
For Parliament
In a blood stained suit
That was given to you
at the local food bank
especially for this occasion

May the maple leaf now grow
Into the shadows of the May pole

In the cold Canadian night
You will clear your throat
with beggars from the gallery
who make a glorious stench
out of the Parliament
You shall say to them with regret
as to the poetry presses I cut
I must have been on smack
I did not realize at the time
they were a national trust
And our experiments into the colours
of vagrant vowels in Vancouver
They will do nothing
but expand democracy
Important research
for all Canadians
I expect to fund fully
through the next election

You will refund the CBC
just in time for them to zoom
upon the tears of your face
As you recite the entire works
of Pauline Johnson
As canoe paddles tremble
from the Bay Street at your fingers
down the mire of Indian River
You will say with conviction
That I will name
our next national park after
The Montreal school of poets
And admission will be free
To those of you I have persecuted
Left standing in the snow
I will not sell Irving Layton
To the Chinese
But I shall sell Irving Oil
To the lumpen proletariate
For bottles of screetch
and Walmart slippers

May the crack houses come
Where you will find the shadows for tomorrow

In the cold Canadian night
As our crackheads sleep in tents
Upon their cradles
of Campebell soup cans
You will say with conviction
I shall cease
my Fascist operations against them
In favour of
the expansion of the NFB
To film the desolation
alongside Jane and Finch
I will watch with vigilance
I will declare a new city
For grain elevators to house
The homeless in our hands
And you shall bring out for me
Every sound-bite from every hour
All the breaking news
that poverty is a crime
as I release from the Don Jail
those that fit that description
As the homeless march up and down
For the blueprints of Sister Jane
Who shall sing our redemption

May the mad pipers play on
May the children dance upon the May pole

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