Poem by Priscila Uppal

I

Among ravines and bike lanes,

The only moving thing

Was the St. Clair streetcar.

II

He was of three minds,

Like a country

With three levels of government.

III

Budgets whirled in the recession winds.

Numbers in pantomime.

IV

A mayor and a city

Are one.

A mayor and a city

And an island

Are one.

V

I do not know which to prefer,

The mayor of first term

Or of the second.

The prelude or

The encore.

VI

Icicles filled the cabinet

With barbaric glass.

The mayor took on the philistines,

East and west.

He brought flutes and pianos,

Headdresses and monologues and pirouettes

Out of the cold shadows.

VII

O fat men of Toronto,

Why do you imagine shorter wait times?

Do you not see your leader

Training his feet

For marathons?

VIII

We know humanitarian arts,

Multicultural urban rhythms;

But we know, too,

That the mayor is involved

In what we know.

IX

He rode across the GTA

In a green coach.

Once, a fear pierced him,

And he vowed

To keep the streets

Of his city gunless.

X

At the sight of the mayor

Under television’s harsh lights,

Even the most finely groomed

cry out: hair guru!

XI

City Hall is reshuffling.

The mayor must be dancing.

XII

It was election time all afternoon.

Veritable voting season.

The mayor surveyed his beloved city.

The clock struck twelve.

He took a bow.

Priscila Uppal