poemimage

The poem you see

is not the poem

I see,

intones

a merchant

(of some privilege)

in Upper Canada.

His ruffled sleeves

stained

with grease and

gravy.

Your poem

has been singed

by musket powder,

or perhaps

a mishandled lantern,

he mutters,

eating and drinking.

Pausing to smoke from a packed horn pipe.

And more eating

and drinking and

striking the flint

again.

 My poem,

on the other 

hand,

(jabbing with the fork)

 buckles and heaves,

labouring

beneath the fruits of commerce.

Utilitarian in its task.

How opposite to your

verse:

Stanzas fallen,

motionless

on the floor of an electric carriage.

A volley of

projectiles silencing

the pocket-knife

you gestured with.

A strange brew

of calamity

 brought upon

yourself.

My eyes are closed

upon your plight,

I do not love thee

or thy sacrifice.

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One late summer night last July, 18 year old Sammy Yakim commandeered and emptied a streetcar in Toronto while waving around a small knife and holding his genitals. He was surrounded by a bevy of police officers and shot dead. One of the nine bullets might have missed. Then they tasered him.

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I created a Sammy Yakim – Mayor Rob Ford (as merchant of Upper Canada) visual dialogue depicting ‘the chain of office’  as representative of corporate social values having little or no compassion.

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Upper Canada (b.1791, the predecessor of modern Ontario) was considered by Reformers (see Upper Canada Rebellion) as a rigged game with ‘haves’ and ‘have nots.’  To contextualize this social dynamic: Sammy Yakim would not have been accorded the privilege afforded those with position or connections to the establishment of that time.

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Could his life have been valued any less, anywhere, any time?

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The idea for titling this post Like burning coals nine bullets glide came from poetic verse in  ‘The U.E.; A Tale of Upper Canada’ by William Kirby:

Like burning coals two rifle bullets glide!

Page 170

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The Colton Map of Upper Canada (1855)

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