It Turns Out She Is Canadian, My

Wherever It's Good, Whatever Strange, Faraway Land, Let's Go There, Let's Stay In That Place Alone.

Lately It Has Become More And More Difficult To Attend Dinner Parties Without The Evening Ending In Gunfire Or Tapioca.

A Man Of My Acquaintance Once Wrote A Poem Called "the Road Less Traveled", Describing A Journey He Took Through The Woods Along A Path Most Travelers Never Used. The Poet Found That The Road Less Traveled Was Peaceful But Quite Lonely, And He Was Probably A Bit Nervous As He Went Along, Because If Anything Happened On The Road Less Traveled, The Other Travelers Would Be On The Road More Frequently Traveled And So Couldn't Hear Him As He Cried For Help. Sure Enough, That Poet Is Dead.

You Would Run Much Slower If You Were Dragging Something Behind You, Like A Knapsack Or A Sheriff.

The Rinsed Foam Swirled Into One Drain That Always Clogged Come October When The Maples Dropped Canadian Propaganda Over Everything.