The Los Angeles Times

The Los Angeles Times is going to be read
By a man named Carlo
He will die carrying his wife
(who cannot use her legs) to the bathroom
I will sit in the sun writing about them
My dog will die, my hamster, my turtle
My white rat, my tropical fish
My Moroccan squirrel
My mother and father will die
And so will my friends Robert and derek
Sheila will die in her new life without me
My high school teacher will die, mr waring
Frank Scott will die
Leaving a freer Canada behind him
Glenn Gould will die
In the midst of his glory
Marshall McLuhan will die
Having altered several meanings
Milton Acorn will die
Just after putting out his cigar
On my carpet lester B pearson will die
Wearing the bow tie of Winston churchill
Bliss Carman will die
Before I learned about his loneliness
The Group of Seven will die
Having made some places famous
Where I used to camp
Where I pitched my tent and gutted fish
In the loving sight of Anne of Carlyle
My brother-in law
The most eminent of all Frequent Flyers
He will die a True Son of the Law
And leave my sister 2 million miles
It doesn't matter
That all these deaths occurred
Long before I prophesized them
History will overlook
The tiny glitches in sequential time
And concentrate rather
On my relentless concern
With matters mostly Canadian