Mais Tu N’es Pas un Vrai Québécois
February 14, 2009, by Homme De Sept-Iles
before a pass or fail
shoot or score
love and die
before I assimilate truncate francate
I cry crawl wail
weep smile breathe deep
in my Québec crib
the salt air fibrous, the language
the food (shrimp)
sounds (Scott)
and smells (gulls)
these form the coherence
platforms, lenses of reality
the border flags (flaps)
and macroeconomic hogwash
owe nothing
all is rock, sea, sun
and cold, cold air
this, more than anything
you say imply curse
impose
is who I am
now drop the puck
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