.. where ..


     you were walking  the  road   Barna  to Galway then back (back back to Canada

                                                  like a real immigrant) that you were
                 that  you are  a prisoner of roads and   train,  roadblock and  visa,
                        a  mere speck in the dust of   power
               not a trembling anger in the calm town
                  backing down over the sweet pea
                                          and her hips

                           swaying calling you home