bout de papier, Vol. 6, No. 1 (1988) — Spring 1988 // Printemps 1988, p. 37
It may be true that Ottawa has but
two seasons, winter and July. But Spring
does come each year to Pearson’s fort. I know
for I have read the subtle signs. In Spring
a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of posts,
the middle aged to dreams of dalliance
in secretariat pools. Promotion boards,
their brows bedewed with sweat, publish their lists
and Personnel girds up collective loins
to cope with floods of grievances. Joggers
give running gear its annual wash, to lend
an unaccustomed freshness to the air.
Then fashions change and winter’s sombre hues
give way to light safari suits. Result —
pneumonia in May. External belts
are tightened at the close of fiscal year,
while wiley budget managers arrange
to hide or pad resources “for next time”.
Then lunchtime strolls begin, sandwich in hand
to watch the breaking ice — avoids the curse
of cafeteria gossip: rumours
are rife that only women can be heads
of post, and senior management its jostling
jowls hiding its smile inscrutable
flies South to Caribbean conferences.
Ah! Spring at Pearson. I missed the famous
one of ’86. I was in a meeting.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 6, No. 1 (1988) — Spring 1988 // Printemps 1988, p. 37. Read the rest of this issue →
