The Badger
for Cassie Lewis

It’s true that one can find the common badger In the United States and also Canada. As evidence, just think about the football team Named after it, which, suited up in red, Is to its opponents as an overture Is to the intermission that follows. If there is anything at all that follows From this false analogy, it is that no badger Is capable of composing an overture As deep as all outdoors—although Canada Has to end somewhere, its red And white flag pulled northward by a team Of faithful dogs whose tough hides teem With fleas and courage. Let each one follow The one before until the snow goes red. There are some kids who think a dog’s a badger, Reaching out to pet the low Canada Of a snarling head, as an overture Toward taking one home: then it’s over. Sure, No harm is done, until the jilted brats team Up to open Bistro Canada, Serving a loin of pork that could follow Even the worst glass of ale. But badger Is where they draw the line; they’ve read Those books in which a badger dressed in red Conducts the 1812 Overture, With cannons that remind every hearing badger Of the living and the dead. You can join the team Of qualified accountants in the kitchen who follow Every downbeat with the bellow, “Canada!”, Or sink deeper in the mud. Oh, Canada, When the last list of carnivores is read Aloud in the stadium, will you follow Along with half-moon glasses, the overture To Faust in your head as your earth-clad team Takes the field behind its armored badger? No Canada will save you then from the overture Of the unread band and the tumbling team That follows, saying badger, badger, badger.

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