Memory

We came in the winter now who does that
Like Mary and Joseph trudging in slush in
a dark  Ontario evening endless cars passing
we had no donkey and I was not with child
we were immigrants ten dollar Canadians
I hated him forever after that the cold bit
The central heating bled our noses dry
No one was real language was meaningless
no sound no music no birds singing winter
snow gathering in corner and large tractors
plowing down roads scrapping pavements
cold cold cold evenings and cars rushing on
winter boots with treads and big fat parkas
gloves scarves and the  blessed  long johns
two laned streets and trucks swissing by
Not caring if they splashed your legs at all
blind indifference everywhere no one cared
or faked it when they heard us talking Irish
The they would gush about being Irish but
born in some obscure little place in Ontario
Oh my God that made me so sad for their
grandfathers and grand mothers who died
died here with the longing and the memoirs
but the stories that they tried to share how
Yes over time we had to adapt learn to talk
shallow Canadian pleasant dull accommodating
no passion nothing just empty words useless