Montreal was supposed to heal me,
but it only taught me that reincarnation is a lie.
In Montreal I was supposed to be you,
have a 4.0 GPA and fall in love with an Anglo girl.
I was supposed to grow a mustache in Montreal,
wear bell bottoms and be the 1970s. In Montreal
I’d have friends called Pierre and Jacques, and go to
the Molson School of Business. My family was going
to be proud of me in Montreal. I would escape a divorce
in Montreal, I’d buy my daughter Tintin books in French.
In Montreal I was going to be you, but I gave up
being a girl instead. In Montreal I found you
in every bald guy I passed on the street. In Montreal
I learned to drink 200$ of alcohol and go home crying,
a kid swaying on a greasy metro platform.