Oh Those Canadian, No-Can-See-Em,
Black Flies
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| Oh Canada! |
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Spring Ritual
Sometimes for my country
I get a lonely pang,
For that back home feeling
Of family and the gang.
Today I did the strangest thing.
I headed to the store.
Bought a bag of homeland turf
For five bucks or more.
Aroma of that peat moss
Sweet memories up my nose.
Engrossed I didn't notice
What got inside my clothes.
Loaded up with black fly bites
I'm itching through the night.
They too were starved for Canada
I understand their plight.
Familiar with blood letting
Playing hockey, well I should.
Their homeland is my flavor.
I must have tasted good.
I'm tough. I'll do this every spring
'Til I play back in range.
I guess I simply view it
As Canadian Exchange!
©Artica Burr 2007
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The Bite
I started life in Peterborough
And just from the sound
It seems a place a family
Would like to hunker down.
A place to burrow into
Community and friends
And raise a future family.
A life with no loose ends.
But then again there's hockey
So I am forced to graze
Across the breadth of Canada
And USA these days.
At times I sure am longing
For my fishing shirt.
Out there with my Dad
Cold beer and pants with dirt.
We'd always dip our poles
With black flies buzzing 'round.
While we caught our dinner
Their feast was going down.
No matter how you live it
You have to take that bite.
Life stretched out before you.
Or pay for a bad night.
A pretty hefty hockey hit
Familiar trip I've known.
Buzzing in my head
Some blood and then a groan.
At least I saw it coming
Before he took me out
Unlike the no-can-see-ems
Sneaking 'round about.
It's typically Canadian
To spill some blood on you
Fishing for your supper
Or hockey through and through.
Spilled some on my sweater
At this arena dome.
But all they really gave me
Was a memory of back home.
©Artica Burr 2007
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| In the groove, in the crease, minding the net! |
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©2008 Last Update March 2008
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