An Ode to Canadian Love

My love, when I first saw you,
You wore a crumpled jacket over a spine like a koleso,
You wore a baseball cap and scowled at the world from beneath it,
You smoked too many cigarettes and sang songs to yourself
From a dank Aeroportian room.

O my love, I didn’t like you then:
You were too fearsome and spoke in cant,
But one day you did a funny little dance for me,
And then another one, and you sang a song,
And smiled like a child and almost charmed my pants off.

My love, my pravoslavnyi Jewfuck,
Do you remember that strange orange day last summer?
When you called me ‘sexy-legs’ because my legs were sexy
And I called you ‘hot-haunches’
Even though your haunches weren’t particularly hot?
I loved you that day; you bought me a beer
But refused to drink one yourself:
You said it felt wrong for your body
To be corrupted with toxin
When your soul was filled with
A pure, clean
Love.

Then you lit a cigarette and winked at me.

My love, can you forgive me?
When I said I came to Russia to study weather patterns I lied,
I came looking for you and a good shaverma
I found one of them, my love.
Now I’m ready to go home
To where the snow is much whiter.