Poem of the Month
Tabagie Arsenault, 1920–1972

By Marc Plourde

Published on April 2, 2017

Arsenault’s Tobacco Magazines Novelties is closing:
everyone has locked arms and is dancing.
The Arsenaults have given away flags, trinkets,
greeting cards from the ’40s. Everyone dances
so that the floor shakes like the floor of a boat
while musicians huddle in a corner,
hardly noticing the audience,
and young men shouldering film cameras
as they circle the dancers
record for reasons known to film students
a rum bottle changing hands,
the singer’s face, the girl next to me,
her blue eyelids and fingernails —
and there’s a small dog here unseen by the cameras;
as the floor shakes, as the floor rolls, he jumps
straight up and barks at the noise everywhere.

More Poetry

Zeitgeist

              So it’s a dreary December, the sun a low ember behind ashen snowfall, when you see him bicycle by.               You know this guy! His paintbrush, you’ve seen it fly as watery blues and greys create a feisty pigeon perched atop a tarnished angel’s head.

Oshawa Shopping Centre

I like it when we shop together. All of us
at the heart of a snakeskin wallet.                   Grocery-bag ghosts
graze on footfalls. A wallet where we’re          kept
like photobooth shots. There was a man

Waking at 4 a.m.

There in the darkness silence dwells, and the long wait for morning, daylight around the window shade in what’s left of night;