"Canadian Dawn" by The Klute

Canadian Dawn
By The Klute

As per The Klute: "Persona piece. 'Red Dawn' meets the 'Joe Canada Rant' set in an alternate universe for some reason."

February 28, 2010
A date which will live in infamy.

We should have seen it coming,
When our boys in blue were beaten,
Before the eyes of the whole world,
At the game of ice hockey.
We all wept when Americans were forced to stand beneath that maple leaf,
Made to listen to someone else's national anthem for a change.
You could almost hear the collective licking of our northern neighbor's chops
As they realized America's one weakness:
We're not that good on the frozen pond.
So a cabal of generals of the Canadian Armed Forces hatched a plan.
Using an eco-friendly, green technology doomsday device,
They would erode our long-standing line of defense
Against Great White Northern agression.
They reversed global warming!
A new ice age was upon us.

Their advance,
Like Quebecois tourists driving in the fast lane,
Was slow and methodical.
With no NHL team to defend it, Seattle was the first city to fall.
We tried to fight back, but it was no use.
Flocks of suicide geese grounded the Air Force.
Our Navy was crippled by strategically-placed icebergs.
The Army? Let's just say you don't bring a machine gun to a polar bear fight.
When they blasted George Washington's face off of Mt. Rushmore
And replaced it with Gordie Howe,
The resistance collapsed.
Panicked American refugees began to pour over the Mexican border,
The Red Maple now waving over the White House.

We survived in the United American Provinces of Lower Canada,
But they began to change us.
We were more polite,
Less eager to wave around a loaded handgun shouting "Who wants some!?! Who Wants some!?!".
Distances were measured in meters,
Temperatures reported in centigrade.
No one knew what the fuck was going on.
They denied our God-given right to die in a gutter,
Broke and penniless, Of an easily treatable illness.
I remember when my father was taken away...
On a government-mandated two-week holiday,
Clutching the plane tickets to Aruba in his hand, he shouted "AVENGE ME!!!"
We tried, Papa, but we were too busy getting drunk on Labatt's Blue
And planning our next trip to the Edmonton Folk Festival...
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Now, due to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, I must begin this poem over in French:

Nous devrions l'avoir vu venir.
Quand nos garçons dans le bleu ont été battus,
Avant les yeux du monde entier ...

No! This is a bridge I will not cross.
They cannot make me speak in French!
I will resist,
Proudly dipping my freedom fries in ketchup, and not poutine,
Replacing my tuque with a foam-dome filled with two cans of shitty American beer
And I will not let them change everything about us, from A to Z -
Because it is "Z", Not Zed, Z!!!
We will drive you syrup drinkers back across the 49th parallel north,
Raise Old Glory once again,
Take away everyone's health care,
Give the upper-class a tax cut, then really stick it to the poor,
Like we used to do when were still remembered what it meant to be American!
So let me say it so you can understand it, O Canada:

Je n'ai pas encore commencé à combattre,
I have not yet begun to fight!

Copyright 2010 © Bernard "The Klute" Schober



Klute, The: A rare breed of Southern Arizona slam poet, originally raised in Southern Florida (however, he's not a native Floridian - rumors trace his origin back to Illinois).

Abhors use of rhyme schemes in poetry, writes almost exclusively in free verse. Frequent targets: the goth subculture, neoconservativism (especially Dick Cheney), and crass-commercialism. Member of the 2002, 2003, 2005, and 2006 Mesa National Slam teams (Mesa's 2005 slam champion), and 2008's Phoenix Slam Team. SlamMaster of the Mesa Poetry Slam. Has released three chapbooks of his work: 2002's "Escape Velocity", 2005's "Look at What America Has Done to Me", and 2008's "My American Journey". Ask him nicely and he might send you a copy. Primary habitat considered to be raves (especially desert parties), goth clubs, and dimly lit dive bars. Prefers vodka, rum, and absinthe when drinking. Is considered friendly, but when cornered, lashes out with a fury not seen since last Thursday. He's totally smitten with his girlfriend, Teresa - so don't ask him to dance. Feel free to buy him a drink, but remember, he's not putting out. No matter how much you beg.

People are talking about The Klute!

AZSlim, Espresso Pundit poster: Don't argue with The Klute. His hyperventilating and pure hypocrisy shown in these (and many other) posts makes reasoning with a two-year old who didn't get the popsicle he wanted seem tame by comparison.

Phoenix 944 Magazine says: Despite the heat, [The Klute] wears a black trench coat almost everywhere he goes and if the setting permits, he’ll blast through enough slanderous commentary to make Andrew Dice Clay blush. [He] admits he started slam poetry out of arrogance. He saw a performance and figured he could do better, after which he also admits he failed miserably. Today, his addiction for getting in front of the microphone and spitting out everything from a Dick Cheney haiku to a long-winded prose on race car driving to the late Hunter S. Thompson is as strong as his love for vodka and absinthe. If anyone’s seen “The Klute” in action, they’d know it. If they haven’t, they must.

Jerome duBois, The Tears of Things: You have one of the blackest hearts I've ever had the misfortune to glimpse.

The Klute on LiveJournal

Photo of The Klute by Jessica Mason-Paull