Fabulist

Riel veritably in a cockpit -
Gabriel Dumont with his buffalo robe
peeking from behind
a blind at Duck Lake
all ingredients intact,
a gallow's walk inevitable
given a series of probable givens.
Given Riel is an illusionist
figuring 3 days back from the grave
- that an early prototype of the Gatling gun
is in effect, that a Ghost Dance
cannot stop bullets.
Superior numbers & discipline'
mandate the West will cringe
to the Queen's Red Coats;
what's more, the iron horse
icon "talking leaves" & the
superficiality of running
a plow over the land's back
all take their calculated toll.
By some obscure, parboiled magic
Riel is transformed to a living
room of today:
heir apparent to the French Canadian
empire (nightmare) or yuppie visionary
illuminaire?
In the Dominion soup kitchen,
the rest of the country acts
as a beggar clutching another pot.