It’s his apartment – someday, it will be occupied by others – gross!
(sometimes he walked over Atwater bridges to drink on picnic tables)
Others will sleep in his rooms, talk in his spaces.
(took charge in group conversations – if people took offense, that was their fault)
Their ideas might contrast his – neither will ever know.
(both might be behind the wisdom of their neighbours)
They will kiss his ex-girlfriends’ daughters.
(nobody will kiss as well as he did, and with as many beautiful women)
They will drink at his Benelux brewery – with a changed menu.
(took dates there to cool down warm up to comfortable in familiar settings)
They will look at his St-Lawrence.
(never swam in it, still: he looked at it a bunch)
They will climb his Mont-Royal, laugh on his path.
(showed friends from elsewhere as though he had placed all those bricks on the edge)
Indifferent spaces and buildings that never knew him, he collected things to be sold at auction, complaining of customs fees.
(buying often helped to forget who had paid the cost for the things)
He was so much cooler than the rest of the people on the corner of St- Laurent, waiting for the light to fade.
(other guys approved of how he acted like other guys / bought things / owned certain women etc)
The tree in front of his building will not die of a broken root.
(it survived his grandfather)
Whether or not the record exists, let it be known: His.
(he took charge of his life, independent – aside from all the people who supported him / sacrificed themselves for the stuff etc)
He dominates nature, his environment, killing things.
He loved his apartment.
(all political movements have loving owners)
This intersection will never remember him.
(if the lights broke a fuse, requiring repair, would that count?)
The apartment will not remember his scrapes against walls any more than he will remember the vine that slit his ankle when he was dragging wood to burn.
(his memory of the experience is maybe it)