Mark Sampson


You grew up without me, little girl
Your flaxen locks and clapboard espionage
hidden under bland green eaves and
rotating Tim Hortons signs
What’s this obsession with repression?
Victoria Row, Victoria Park
Did you wear a corset to your first ice cream social?
You struck me as dull and insensitive
like hardened hockey player eyes under ball caps
or a harbour that leads to nowhere

I spared you the line I give
every woman I kiss
Now thankful you forgave my
wanton cruelty
We have both matured in the intervening years
You are more refined than I thought
an Edwardian parasol, a kind old soul
and I am at last unmoored
free to love you from a distance

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