Ode to a Roof

How do I love thee, 

let me count the ways: 

Like you I'm shmatta-made,

both dad and grandad were in the bizness,

and so, you might say, 

is our beloved Montreal, 

woven together 

immigrant communities

who built an industry 

of cutters, sewers 

and salesmen and in turn,

was built by it.

But you,

you took it to a whole other level,

your Kevlar fabric 

was 'space-age' in '76,

the retractable design 

a marvel of modern engineering,

a roof that folds up

into the armpit of a tower hunched

over the stadium's bowl 

like a vomiting drunk after a bender.

A roof

that lifts away on massive cables 

to play Expos' games

under blue sky and sunshine,

and parachutes down for cover in rain, 

you held so much promise,

like the team that might have won it all

but like you

could never make it all the way

to the top.

We feel your pain, 

a slow suffering demise of 16,000 tears

(sad, but who's counting),

somehow you could not bear 

the weight of snow

3 cms in a city that averages over 200 

every winter 

(but who's counting);

as if from day one

you were designed to fail,

or belonged to another city

south of the border

where the snowbirds migrate,

or maybe an imagined metropolis

of a climate-changed future.

Florence's 586-year old Duomo

hasn't been fixed as often as you, 

or cost as much, 

and you're only 35

(but who's counting).

This morning I woke to radio news

that the 2017 plan 

to make you unretractable

at a cost of $250 million

(1/4 of a billion dollars, but who`s counting)

has been delayed (again)

with no end date in sight -

'unretractable' is a good word for you.

We're too invested 

to cut our losses now,

we're overly-attached,

our love is blind

beyond all reason, 

and will make us pay

over and over

until it's truly over.