“The Streets of Montréal”


“The Streets of Montréal”

The streets of Montréal are empty now.
The neighbouring labouring winter lingers as the bus stops sigh.
Procrastination signs in odd displays of petulance at what must come south
From colder, darker Hudson nights as ice rusts earlier every year in forests; as if reminding us of reasons for early thaw. North from sales
In Southern giveaways the multi-fronts wave greetings from so many hills away;
Flight lanes set by geese suggest a conscious prodigeous delay
As newscasts and conspiracy reports have some little to say of chemtrails
As heckling sunspots’ hour to hour display for weather wearied eyes
Not at all concerned with what’s for dinner but everything to gain as teams
Of salvage crews prey along New England’s ocean shores. Reams
Of information on the cable news hours’ finely honed cyclones surface lies
And cries of what’s in Gaia’s oven and what on earth is all that’s going down
As BP Oil’s politicians in shameless self-promotion make their
usual strident claims that bolster bookies and talk show hosts placing bets
on just exactly when, not if the Mississippi rises next
and what, not whom coastline levies drown.



2 responses to ““The Streets of Montréal”

  1. Weather patterns so vastly changeable, and so many lives along with them, what next? Where next? upside down World methinks, did the Axis change whilst we slept?

    • I don’t know about the ‘axis,” but it has become patently obvious that after what we have experienced this winter added to what we had last summer, and beyond that, last winter, apparently, we’re in for it from here on in. Absolutely nothing about the last three seasons makes sense, and from where I sit, it may just as well be our lot to get used to it. Two hurricanes in as many years in New York and one in Britain, France, and the Low Countries? Yes, well, this week we’re back in the deep freeze we experienced in December with no lot-up in sight. Stay warm and dray, Lady Pen, and marvel.

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