February. In the old days, snow so deep
you sunk up to your knees, slipped and slid
on the unshovelled walks.
February. In the new days, no snow,
that counts anyway.
February. In the old days, cold so sharp
you huddled in your fur coat, your wool coat,
your scarf and toque and mitts.
February. In the new days, not cold,
for a Canuck anyway.
February. In the old days, the short-long month
between Christmas and Easter,
an excuse to party.
February. In the new days, the month
with Family Day.
February. The lost month
that nobody wants and
nobody celebrates.
