XX (from The Minutes)


Let’s begin:
“Compromise,”
a dirty word
only
if the position
you are most fond of
is the position
you are found out in,
we are all of us
centrefolds
but none of us
models.
Measure yourself! sayeth Babrius.
It’s the difference between
scrimmagin’
through scruples
maiorem partem lucretur
& rimjobbin’
through loopholes
minorem damni praestet.
Dear Sir, measure:
“I am happy to report
that to generate
a revenue stream,
meter-maids,
Lords of Industry that they are,
mete out ready-made
tickets for violations, as is
their wont or métier—
the no-way of know-how—
then collect
under the auspices
of good objective judgment
and The National Post.”
Measure yourself
but never those selfless acts of love
that burst from the mouth
like a pipe,
making a new better stream
in which to swim
before the eventual
streamline.
Meeting adjourned.



This poem “XX (from The Minutes)” originally appeared in Agency & Affect. Spec. issue of Canadian Literature 223 (Winter 2014): 84-85.

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