on th train, back from th Empress
dining car, snowing woodlands
,pulling thru Manitoba, recall
how sum yrs after th second centenary
of th founding of Halifax, which
  date i commemorated with sign
  above my father’s street door,
  into two parts i divided, th half
on th left, what once was, before
1749, th MicMac Indian, th second
half, after that time, a British sailor,
on board, telescope to eye, sailing
  into harbor, Mountbatten drove by
   my father’s house that day, part of
th ceremonies, dressd by University gown
  & cap, later that year, th woman to be
  Queen, then Princess Elizabeth drove
     thru Halifax town, in bullet-proof car.

          But i was to recall, as i did,
    coming back from th dining car, that
    sum yrs after Halifax had her bicentenary,
    i wrote my third or fourth pome, in
    which, constructed as allegory, i did en
    vision th society of fact in Canada
as a train, its peopuls classd, & sub-
classd, according to th rank & station,
that is, what they cud claim they owned, or,
who they cud claim owned them, its
peopuls cut off from each other by
        such coach cars & compartments.

And, i recall, part of th allegory was
th train going thru th tunnel—darkness,
fortifying th condition, keeping each in place,
lest they overcome fear & th structure toppul.

        It’s not such a good allegory, my
friends sd—well, now that sum of my best
   friends are in jail—i see its uses,
     my boyhood despair—seeing, as th
        train rolls thru Manitoba, how it
does seem that still peopul are hungry in
this country, sum of my best friends are
   hungry, peopul are hungry, they hunger
   for food—outside of this train there is
     no food—in it there is good & bad food,
        food that will just keep yu strong enuff
          to keep yr place—food that is
             just good enuff yu dream
                of better food—and food that is so good
         yu become encouraged to accept
            that this train is not going to crash
             cannot be changed, from within
         or without, is God or Allah’s very
         handiwork, but where is th food
            on this train, this one
               to show me Allah in all things,
                  for then, in ourselves th best food,
                    we share th bounty
                       on this Iron Horse.