I watched the bus drive down its route
With all kinds of fares on board;
Heading to some stop;
Each on a personal journey,
As important as any you've got.
The cord will pull,
The door will open
To let some traveller off,
As another steps into the bus.
On and on,
On and off,
They travel on their routes.

I used to ride a bus,
And I knew this way back then;
Then I forgot for far too long, that
I'm still journeying friends.

Here is my home town.
I'm lucky to live here,
To have grown here
With all our familiar streets and sights;
The houses where we lived together,
The homes of my childhood friends;
Our schools, churches and local attractions
Are mostly here.
The comings and goings of the locals
Are documented in The Observer.
Familiar and strange.

Today I see a city of cards and cardboard cut-outs.
Sarnia is a museum display of life
In the 21st century I study from this side
Of the display case.
In time, the partition separating us will dissolve
Into a pile of shifting sand about our feet.

Don't you admire his ringwork;
His footwork and speed?
Dance. Jab. Dance.
Did you see Rambonehead snap?
Glossy-eyed. Swollen and staggering
Like the bloated incumbent.
Jab. Dance. Jab.
The Dope's been roped.
The final count's on.

You say you won't cry
(and you know I know why),
But you will.
When memory reminds you
Of our life and thrills,
Our talks of love
In the park on the hill.
Our fear for our children,
Our love for each one,
Our love for each other
Before our love was gone.
You say you won't cry,
But you know you will.

The Queen is in the Tower,
She decrees to step out;
But the bouffant needs some tending,
And Royal chin y chin hairs sprout.

The Queen is in the Tower,
She dines well when she eats;
But Lizzie's in a tizzy now,
No walk-abouts on her street.

The Queen is in the Tower,
Standard at full mast;
When the Union Flag is lowered,
Royal Heirs will know she passed.

Who dares enjoy your gold with you?
What good is it Midas? It's contaminated.
When will you, if ever, enjoy it again?
Where is your preferred seating now?
Why persist with your follies? Don't touch me.

When the son-in-law
(who should remain nameless)
Is a clone
Of the father-in-law,
(whom should also remain nameless),
The son-in-law
Lies in an incestuous bed,
And the father-in-law
Gets a vicarious jump
On the wing
(the west one)