Litkicks Message Board Archive

Tourists in Gastown

Posted to Poetry




take pictures of the steam clock
and rummage through shops
selling souvenirs made in China.
A cold wind sends papery leaves
skirling down the street.
The grey sky threatens snow.
I pull my flimsy jacket closer,
gazing longingly at a sweater
emroidered with the requisite maple leaf.
Canada, the brand, selling
an image of democracy and freedom.
Two things the prison labourer
who made that sweater
will never attain.