M. Hank

I remember taking Polaroids with you

In the driveway of the house you’ve now sold

On a grey afternoon that looked like night

In the photos. We’d wait impatiently

Dear Canada, 

You do not belong to us. 

You never have. 

And I really, really hope you never will. 

You are your own country, but I know I don’t have to tell you that. 

What if

I could be a real actor

What if

It doesn't matter if my name sounds like a big-movie-star name?

What if I'm delusional?

What if I don't really care?

A world which 

Begins with the 

Click of the 

Day, with 

Every tick 

From the clock 

Going round, 

Hounding the day till 

I drag myself out,

I’m standing there, minding my own,
 Unarmed, no threat, just skin and bone.
 But he sees me, and I’m already guilty,
 Not for what I’ve done, but for how I look, for where I’ve been, for the color of my skin.