If I had but twenty-four hours,
Who would I call?
Each daughter would take a year;
The brothers and sisters would yammer
For a month each;
Every friend would spend a week
Re-hashing our adventures and antics;
Favourite teachers and colleagues
Would like longer, but I can't afford more
Than a day per;
All others, except my detractors,
One minute,
The latter,
One second,
And with them,
All,
I'd need another lifetime.

Have you found a Saviour;
One to emulate,
Then denegrate,
Whip and crown and tree?
Then turn, and say,
It wasn't me.

Would I have seen the god-like qualities,
Listen to the sermons,
Eat the fish and bread,
Drink the watery wine?
Would he raise me from the dead?
Could my feet fit the prints
On the sands of Galilee.
Would he admonish me
For having two coats,
Finishing my smoke
With one straw in my coke?

I have found my Saviour.
His name is Xavier.

Not My President.
But he is. Let him live.
He and his minions
Are like the poor;
They will always be with us.
But north of you,
We have a Queen.
#Not My Royal Family.
They're needy and expensive,
Spoiled and enfranchised.
An extended, big family
Who gets free rides at Canada's Wonderland,
Best seats at hockey games... all games
For Lieutenants-Governor,
Governors-General,
And all the wee princesses and princes.
Rideau Hall is the official residence
The White House pales beside,
Sussex Drive fades beside its oppulence.
Celebrities and histories have planted trees there.
Jack, Marilyn, Nelson, Martin and all the heavenly host
Have approached those gilded doors,
Pretending to bow and curtsy to an absent Queen.
Back to #Not My Royal Family.
I didn't get a vote.

Do we remember John?
He was what we'd call a Simpleton,
Back when we were young.
He stood in his brown cloth coat,
Carried a notepad and a pen,
We suspected he had half a tongue,
Making notes on roadside lawns,
Near every manhole.
John was busy inside his head,
We never got a word he said.
Who was John before John was dead?

Did you know Stanley?
We didn't see him much.
He'd appear in the hood on holidays.
Probably went to New Hope School,
Where he was kept.
Stanley swore a lot,
He threw snot, drooled and spit at us.
We poked fun, and provoked,
Felt blameless,
For Stanley's condition was kept from us.
Segregated,
And not because of colour.

I've a lingering scratch
In the throat,
An irritation
As I spoke;
I coughed, I choked,
And spewed out the last
Off-coloured joke.

There was a ringing
In my ear,
A clappering sound
You rang for years.
I blocked and stopped
And turned away
To silence the slurs
I refuse to hear.

I've black floaters
In my eyes,
The only colour
I surmise;
Other shades now subside;
I'm looking forward
With clear brown eyes.

There's a Revolution coming,
The boots are on the streets;
It's calling from the graves,
We're stirring from our sleep.
There's a hunger in the eyes;
The troops are on their feet.
The revolutions's coming
And the enemy won't retreat.

There's a revolution coming,
It's coming as we speak;
The revolution's coming,
It should be here next week.

The mob appeal
Is running lights,
Towered minions
Fight the fight
To rein in their percent,
From navel gazing heights.
Desks in towers,
Those grasping power,
Will tumble in defeat.
The gravity of their greed
Will drag them through the streets.

The bell at four
Will sound no more;
The chorus chants
For a holy war; and
Salvation for the weak.

There's a revolution
On the way,
We'll re-write all the laws,
We'll line up the Romanovs,
And shake down all the Shahs.
There's a revolution coming
And it's coming
With just cause.

They're struggling at the water hole,
It's really getting rough,
Jackals nipping at the heels
Of the rhinoceros.
The ***** lie in the grass
Waiting for what's left,
But the water-line is dropping,
And the wild ones face the test.

The struggle spills into the street,
Into the houses of the weak,
Where it's getting stronger.
There's less light in the daytime,
The night's are getting longer;
If this is a Safari,
Do you think it's going well?
Or are we holding baskets
In the long line-up to hell?