Alexander Mackenzie was the first of Canada’s prime ministers to be attacked and eaten by owls.

So, I think about how it all went wrong,

when, really, that should be as obvious

as wondering why a horse can’t string a guitar

or why there are so few poems about NASCAR.

I’m fifty-two now, yet wisdom eludes me –

unless falling asleep at a Wendy’s

to dream about a time where I would not

fall deep asleep at a Wendy’s is wise.

Getting mad at you for not loving me

is like being mad at Saturn for not

having an IKEA to buy cheap shelves

for my mint copies of Spy magazine.

So, the regret is about connection,

but not the icky way you meant connection –

I mean iPhone, I mean, in retrospect,

I’m grateful you never once stabbed me.