It’s not a contract until the names are on it.
Though always there is one who signs off with less
than a whole heart. “Leading Today for Tomorrow,”
that’s Mississauga’s slogan. Or is it “leaving” …
eastbound, westbound, exodus via
the 400-series highways. Personal reasons
I will not get into. The 427 interchange
is a long note in space, flightpath of materials
the grace of which is a reason to live. Is not likewise
the possibility and mortal danger of shooting
its photograph from the roadbed? Is not digital
radio? Accelerate into the curve by the Ford plant,
its freshly birthed Fusions in the nursery lot
behind razorwire, their cradle the duplication
of goods and services. Oakville’s motto is “Go Forward.”
And, indeed, where is everyone? They are shopping
in the Dixie Mall because their cars are there.
They’re working in pharmaceutical company offices
because their cars are there. They’re eating
at the golf club. They’re lying in their beds. Burlington
is “The Home of Ribfest.” Upon the satellite campus
of the Lancaster Gentlemen’s Club,
sodium haloes cast an abiding light
whose influence fades along the paved
and shouldered avenues locals call country roads.
We are all locals now. A thing is what it is called.
Country has become the countryside.
It gets so you don’t want to talk about it,
though the air is thick with personal messaging.
A thought could walk on it as on stones to find you.
My good horse will bear me over the river
of that noise. As through a burning cloud
my good horse will carry me.