(inside joke for my friend Don McKay)
Them Canadian poets
they’re as cold as ice floes,
buggers frozen in the nose,
too far north to make a difference
and when the polar bears come to fish
even French boys speak in glish.
The say that Leonard Cohen
is their only major poet
but if it wasn’t for Suzanne who would know it?
Them Canadian poets,
they’re as cold as Hudson Bay
when the north wind blows both ways.
Their entire poetic output
can fit on the tip of a needle
or on the butt hair of a Saskatchewan beetle.
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