Fabulist

    Riel veritably in a cockpit -
    Gabriel Dumont with his buffalo robe
    peeking from behind
    a blind at Duck Lake
    all ingredients intact,
    a gallow's walk inevitable
    given a series of probable givens.

    Given Riel is an illusionist
    figuring 3 days back from the grave
    - that an early prototype of the Gatling gun
    is in effect, that a Ghost Dance
    cannot stop bullets.
    Superior numbers & discipline'
    mandate the West will cringe
    to the Queen's Red Coats;
    what's more, the iron horse
    icon "talking leaves" & the
    superficiality of running
    a plow over the land's back
    all take their calculated toll.

    By some obscure, parboiled magic
    Riel is transformed to a living
    room of today:
    heir apparent to the French Canadian
    empire (nightmare) or yuppie visionary
    illuminaire?
    In the Dominion soup kitchen,
    the rest of the country acts
    as a beggar clutching another pot.