Canadian Smoke

The enraged international campfire fills my living room
Throat is scratchy, eyes watery
I douse the throat with gin
Tonic dabbed in tender corners of the eyes
Canada was never good at containment, I feel
Observe the contours of its atrocities jockeying our own
Murdered indigenous children’s bodies interned around the distant “religious” sites
Their hellfire now quite close
Closer than our own.