Sylvie Hill

A Sad Sonovabitch Rotting in Ottawa

What wonder those two men from London!
Their fathers one from the Indian Ocean, other South Pacific.
Takes me 18 years to see the comparisons!
My rocks. So unique. From afar, and down under.

What time they took to support me and care!
My every thought, synapse and dare.
The first used softness, understanding, assured.
The second was sharp, tender, strict, and endured.

How mean I was to the first in that youth
Treating him poorly, my virtual attraction gone mute.
A gentleman, he stood by knowing he wasn’t my suit:
“I have enough friends,” upon my return, he gave me the boot.

How silly I was with the second in my older age
Treating him adoringly, instead of pulling us off the stage
Such acting, the two of us, could we not stay friends?
Maybe he has enough friends, upon return, there was silence.

Such magic in those days, such power I had to lure!
Through written letters, and emails, and all our words.
Such influence in those days, their willingness to obey!
Their perseverance that we would meet and love/like it one day.

But when young we’re full of those dreams
I was never going to marry and have some kids.
And look at you both: so successful in Manchester and He up Auckland
And look at me: still a sad sonovabitch rotting in Ottawa.

…and they wonder “why Montreal?”
International.

…and they say men like women who are
vulnerable.

Well I couldn’t be weaker for all my strengths
That keep me structured and constrained.

Sylvie Hill 2018