It occurred to me, after attending the evening discussion with Steven Price and Fred Wah where the question of the “morose” Canadian character and its influence on our literature, and especially poetry, was referenced, that I should preface my first ever public reading of my just-published, albeit yet-to-arrive-in-my-hot-little-hand, novel, with a not-morose poem. This possible lapse in judgement resulted in my selecting the following opus, though I had a few others to choose from which I will add later on separate pages.
Three Sheep Walking
On a late July morning,
gas-burning guzzler trip
for milk and news,
three sheep out for stroll on Lacon road;
two white and one black woolly critter,
chatting away, I suppose,
as sheep are wont to do.
Having safely negotiated a bicyclist,
and then my dangerous Dodge,
one advises the other two,
“Stick to the shoulder side of the road.”
“Look at that sign,” another sheep snout sharply aims
at a sign advising safety for
pedestrians, bicyclists and animals.
“Who is calling who an animal, I ask you?
Not one mention of sheep walking,” says the third.
“They just don`t care about us,” say two in unison.
“Shear ignorance, I say,” says the third.