The Slide
One day, on a walk along a stretch
of sweeping, broken glassed sand
I noticed a curious site, a new reality
as more and more and more of my countrymen
were living out of tents, all those unwashed lives
placed into such small, heartrending desperate
reduced lives
more and more and even, somehow more foreigners
had been corralled, marshalled, shanghaied
frog marched into the great Canadian replacement
a government program designed to reintroduce
a friendlier, modern, soap stained version of
slavery
our jobs gone, given to the hordes spilling
like that heel cutting, finger shredding, sand
over and through our destroyed borders
why? had we lost a war with India?
and no one had bothered to tell us?
this terrible news
for a reversal had occurred
what used to be a theory bandied about
on the darker, frayed edges of society
was now writ legibly, stark, into the new bones
of this harsh, degraded, country once known as
Canada
Oh Canada, how you have tilted, drunken
and the people once thought of as safe
are now caught like thrashing fish
in the full, steep, downward slide
the middle class becoming poor
the poor becoming homeless
and the homeless became ghosts
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you can hear their keening on cold nights
protesting our Canadian owners and employers
who hire only the jackal spawned invaders
you can see them every day, at every door
through every gatepost, arriving as if borne
on the wind
our great leader has restyled his hair
his wife divorced him; leaving in disgust
caught him wearing one of her gowns
exhausting all her cosmetics, again
she now smiles more, convinced her past life
was just a bad dream
he soldiers on, glorious in his stupidity
and incompetence, a useful idiot through which
others worked the destruction of a country
through his mouth, came the script for
the great replacement, we used to hang
traitors
for a long moment the people responsible
laughed themselves to sleep, and then
the numbers that worked for them
sea changed and the for became an against
their children jobless, their politicians
outvoted by the rabid throngs that felt not a jot
of gratitude
colonizers see those they are colonizing
as unworthy of such things
the rich have their fortresses against
the gravity of poverty
they may last a generation
or two
but the damage has been done
the rot has entered the roots
we are now living firmly in the slide
our choices now illusions
the grappling hook and foot spikes
might slow one’s descent from
the initial shock as the floor gives way
but none of us
will survive
the fall
