Queen Street

As I walk down Queen Street,
Lake Ontario, like a sea,
merges into the misty horizon –
lacy boundary
of some other kingdom

and on this side
a picket fence and many mansions:
this must be my father’s house, but
somehow I had imagined it differently

The size of these properties
grows exponentially
like the Richter Scale,
waiting for an earthquake

though they look stable enough,
as most of us do near the end of the road…

Near the end of the road
a proud mansion has been abandoned:
the divorce got complicated

In the garden round a naked statue
children’s toys lie forgotten –
cars, tractors, buses
not going anywhere

waiting for a second coming or a third,
or a storm from the lake
to sweep them away

The children are already split
between various parties