Out in Swift Current, Saskachewan eh!
In 1939 there emerged a special lover of moose-flavored sorbet
Wonderfully named and armed with goatee,
A man set to make some history.
Born Frederick James Wah,
like the pedal under Jimi’s paw,
We all now just call him Fred,
a true Canadian, born and bred.
From 2011 to this day in time,
He’s celebrated with margaritas and sweet lime
Thanks to his assignment as Canada’s Poet Laureate,
a position so grand and glorious,
its holders have amazing skills
like rhyming with words like “laureate”
Hey, he’s even taught at Dave and Arto’s alma mater,
Where we’re barely qualified to carry his water,
The University of Calgary, a place of higher learning,
cold weather, hockey fans, and reasonably priced chicken wings.
Remembering all that has awoken in me a long lost yearning,
for barbecue sauce and Molson Canadian..and all those things.
Hey, we all have our preferences.
You’ve surely realized by now,
the writer of this piece has no rhyming consistency or knowhow
no more concept of proper poetic diction
than your least favourite peddler of erotic fiction
Perhaps I’ll try that instead next week.
Back to our hero Mr. Fred Wah.
Growing up in West Kootenay,
He must’ve seen a hootenanny or two in his day.
A co-founder of the world’s first online literary magazine
A periodical fiery like a grill burning sausage under a dangling keg of kerosine.
Swift Current, they called their journal,
Ah, the place where the Molson flows eternal.
Now retired from his teaching jobs,
Mr. Wah greets the neighbourhood’s Jims and Bobs,
With his well named wife Pauline Butling.
At their home in British Columbia,
It’s in Canada of course, not…Um, North Umbria?
Yes, not there.
At least I know a bit aboot geography,
I was never much of a poet see.
About as good as a Vogon torturer,
Or the writers of Dumb and Dumber-er.
Now go! Pick up a little Fred Wah volume and don’t even worry,
I swear to you friend, you won’t be sawry.
Enjoy a pint of your local brew,
and a wing dipped in the sauce called BBQ.