Passed Over

by the Ultramar in Madoc

 

No refund for the satisfaction cruelty bought.

No refund for the solitude honesty wrought.

 

The madman landed behind the Ultramar

on Seven. Seven, trafficked by sane men

who stare each other down at a hundred

and blink chicken. The madman once didn’t

something. Something to do with crap land,

to do with crooks, and likely someone close.

 

The madman had a dog once (says so on the signs:

Wrotten bread Killed my dog NO REFUND

Chinese plastic gravy have a nice day LOBLAWS),

must be alone. He doesn’t talk to people;

he talks at them. Whose bread I eat His song

I sing. I keep some Friends for entertainment.

 

Finally in this great, excellent year of 2016,

the madman has fit us Jews into his suffering.

Yankees fed jewish-nazi-like Powerful Propaganda.

The Jew owns the world. I relent: yes, it is true.

Some perfect nights, sugar on my finger,

honey on my tongue, I very much own the world

 

The whole world, with its Liberal politicians

and dead best friends, its stolen local elections

and lonesome men seeking private investment.

 

Only one in 10 eligible fathers was claiming parental leave benefits through Employment Insurance

 

The man and woman next to me are done picking at their fries.

The woman has an exposed knee and the man has long hair

(like me).

 

I order a burger and fries, excited by this rare chance to dine alone.

The sexy couple get up in their coats and go psst, psst, psst.

A weed breeze is let in.

 

I am entitled to all the ginger ale I want so long as I never leave

for any reason other than to smoke. All I have to do is ask for more.

The waiter has a cord.

 

My burger and fries come and both are good. A friend out west

texts to say I would be proud of him because he is pushing buttons

at the federal NDP convention in Edmonton.

 

As a white, Jewish, able-bodied, cis-gendered, middle-class man,

I often feel like the character bit by a zombie screaming

SHOOT ME.

 

I am picking at my fries, but my waiter will not ask, “Are you done,

or are you still picking?” I will have put everything on my plate

in a way I read you should.