The Man in the Helicopter

It would be so easy to say I was thinking,
“so long, asshole.”
But I wasn’t.
I felt bad for the man.
They say people will talk about where they were
when a black man put his hand on Lincoln’s bible
and a Catholic pro-lifer screwed up the swearing in.
I’ll remember learning there was a Marine One
as well as an Air Force One.
I’ll remember that same black man
walking with the now retired president
to a shiny green helicopter for technical reasons
was no longer known as Marine One.
His entrance reminded me of the photos of Nixon’s curtain call.
He proceeded to leave and hover over the city of Washington
as the black man and three others waved.
And I felt bad for the man in the helicopter.
People made fun of him and
suggested he was stupid.
Yet I don’t think he was oblivious.
As he flew over DC
I’m sure he could sense the people below
hissing like cobras.
I’m sure he sensed people saying,
“So long, asshole.”
I wonder if he looked down at the kingdom once his
and said,
“If I could go back in time.”
I wonder if he said,
“So much more I wanted to accomplish.”
His chance is over, and I say, thankfully.
Yet I felt bad for the man in the helicopter.
After all, he was a man.

Indigo Sucks for Poetry

So I was at the Indigo in the Manulife Centre today. I was looking in the poetry section, which is small and not so organized to begin with. I could not find Sachiko Murakami's The Invisibility Exhibit. I could find absolutely nothing by Naomi Shihab Nye, whose work I'm fond of. I did purchase Souvankham Thammavongsa's Found from 2007, a book I've flipped through many times but have not owned until now. But I find it sad that at a major two-storey bookstore, poetry is so disregarded.

Poetry and Stuff

I am really excited about tomorrow night (Monday). I am part of an event called Bye Bye Bush. The event features sets hosted by four different hosts (James Dewar, Edward Nixon, Dave Silverberg and Yehuda Fisher with an open mic set hosted by Jeff Cottrill). I am reading on Nixon's set. It takes place at Cervejaria at College and Ossington Streets. I was originally reluctant to get involved as a) Bush is/was not my president and b) there isn't much worth celebrating. However, I am happy an opportunity for change and thus hope for better days ahead in North America is coming.

Also Rochdale Rhymes and Readings takes place on Jan. 29th as we move to the first Thursday of the month (though obviously this is not the first Thursday). Lara Bozabalian, one of the first features at RDRR, as well one of my favourite writers anywhere, Edward Nixon (yes, him again) and Dayle Furlong will feature. It goes down at the Regal Beagle, beside the Bata Shoe Museum on Bloor St.

I want my rights back!

I'm going to nominate Bernie Farber, Canadian Jewish Congress head as the most annoying person in Canada. Every time someone opens their mouth criticizing the Israeli government he waves his axe trying to get hate crimes charges issued or a human rights complaint issued. This is similar to an American trying to get hate crimes charges filed for complaints against George W. Bush. His latest complaint was against anti-Israel protests on the weekend. He believes the protests were hate crimes.

It would be so easy to stop there. But for months Muslim groups were launching complaints against Canadian media outlets for reprinting controversial cartoons depicting Muhammad. The cartoons wouldn't have become an international issue and be reprinted if there weren't worldwide riots. Some of the cartoons were in poor taste (I've seen them) but people now had a right to know why there were riots going on. There were also complaints about an article written by Mark Steyn in Maclean's. Yet for some reason a man who yells at a woman and hits her in front of her child for being a lesbian, as happened in Oshawa, Ontario recently, this is not a hate crime.

I think it's time to revamp our laws and allow people's freedom to reign supreme, while actually going after those committing hate crimes, so people won't have to live in fear of the Bernie Farbers of the country. Disagreement should not be a crime. People should be allowed to dissent and not hear the hurtful label of "racist."

Canada Wins the World Junior Championship

I wrote this poem the other night (but edited it tonight) while watching the World Junior Championship of hockey final. It was the only game I caught in the entire tournament. I really loved the play of one player in particular.



Raptors lose again.
To Milwaukee.
A city forced to love its losers.
Yet a country loves champions.
I can only admit to be fixated on Team Canada’s best defenceman,
a big tough black dude
not willing to be stupid.
He knows officials are calling a game against him,
his team,
against 18,000 fans in Scotiabank Place,
though the way it’s been refereed,
it might as well be in the MGM Grand,
with Don King in the front row.
The defenceman angrily slams the net at what’s allowed to pass.
But the big man won’t fight back. He knows what’s at stake.
Canada wins. Five golds in a row.
I focus on the kid and his giant head’s giant grin,
his cap worn crooked, pranking his teammates.
How rare is it for someone to go by the name PK?
How rare is it a leaf fan is excited
About a future defenceman for the Canadiens?