Big in size
but with a squeaky little voice,
Canada is like
an effeminate linebacker
facing the south-of-49ers
across the goal line of an undefended border.
We have steroids without strength
mass without muscle.
a huge collapsable shell of a country.
because the Americans cannot be bothered
to deal with the
that would inevitably follow
the easy pushover.
Could Celine Dion save us?
Or Bryan Adams or Margaret Atwood?
Or even Douglas Coupland, Tony Onley and the Bare Naked Ladies linking arms?
Not even the whole mess
of Canadian culture
— bilingual and multicultural —
could save us
if the Americans put their minds to it.
The manifest destiny
ensures that it will happen
one day, some day.
And then many of us will become
like Idahoans or Puerto Ricans.
Maybe we’ll qualify for grants
and affirmative action
as the third largest minority
blacks and hispanics.
Maybe we’d alter American politics
with our semi-socialists
and our semi-fascists
and our quaint idea that government can occasionally
be a good thing.
More likely, we’ll become
a minor market for Wal Mart
an inconvenience for weather forecasters
and a fiscal drain
on southwestern startups
and other entrepreneurs.
If there’s a futures market for snow, native land
claims and Gallic intransigence,
Maybe they could sell us
where benefits are better.