The Windsor-Essex lakes are the victim of this party
Writing in the Margins 2025 Best Hometown Entry Algal blooms around Lake St. Clair and Lake Erie captured by the Landsat 8 satellite in the summer of 2015. Credit: USGS/Unsplash c’mon, she wanted it sneer the air conditioned motorhomes last week, Parks Canada mumbled under-their-breath threats about closing the park for the long weekend, if visitors couldn’t behave so the dedicated members of the Lake Erie Harmful Algal Bloom Bulletin took their rage to the streets, wrapped their anger in packing tape to extend the life of every cardboard sign and paced the step of the Ministry, shaking fists to expose the effluent wreckage of corporate agriculture, septic industries and neo/liberals, which of course are not neo/conservatives, all of whom are leaching for money as we rap like rain against the glass walls that lock birds from the sky as they cry ho ho hey hey, climate change is here to stay until the monster truck drivers throw their disposable cups at the protesters hollering that every fuck face/asshole/bitch should buy some god damn deodorant. but as usual, Parks Canada lifts the health advisory in time for September Long like they do every year, believing in the power of soft threats and permissive parenting, certain suggested punishment is punishment enough Plus, the Park’s long weekend fee collection is the jackpot of their revenues-- that covers all the toilets, trail maintenance and campground wifi which of course, must be decent as the rich congregate to roam in packs of apex predators left unchecked, they are leaking in to overtake the shores with swarming motors, spilling skins of oil as sneaking rainbows that disperse around the docks at the entrance all the rangers pace, staring down the traffic dragging past the gates, spilling their glares over dark aviators to probe your passes. A ranger snakes his tongue over one incisor and drags a snarled kiss from the back of his uniform teeth before he waves the driver on meanwhile lake erie waits with shallowed breath. She lets toxic spores float in her waves, foaming to keep all the bodies back they crowd and roughhouse in her sand, and she sleeps all the time, cant eat, hasn’t picked up a brush, and is far too tired to take a shower, for once she sees it doesn’t matter-- If you disgust someone, life is safer. So erie gives us her most lifeless self, she’s discovered, she can leave the body if her eyes diffuse their focus there’s a refuge in that blankness, an sightless exhaustion almost feels like being peaceful *This poem was the best hometown entry of our 15th annual Writing in the Margins contest. We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Regina Public Interest Research Group (RPIRG) for this year’s contest.
Black News 
Writing in the Margins 2025 Best Hometown Entry
Algal blooms around Lake St. Clair and Lake Erie captured by the Landsat 8 satellite in the summer of 2015. Credit: USGS/Unsplash
c’mon, she wanted it sneer the air conditioned motorhomes
last week, Parks Canada mumbled under-their-breath
threats about closing the park for the long
weekend, if visitors couldn’t behave
so the dedicated
members of the Lake
Erie Harmful Algal Bloom Bulletin took their rage
to the streets, wrapped their anger in packing tape
to extend the life of every cardboard sign
and paced the step of the Ministry, shaking
fists to expose the effluent wreckage
of corporate agriculture, septic industries
and neo/liberals, which of course are not
neo/conservatives, all of whom are leaching
for money as we rap like rain
against the glass walls
that lock birds from the sky
as they cry ho ho hey hey, climate
change is here to stay
until the monster
truck drivers throw their disposable
cups at the protesters hollering that every fuck
face/asshole/bitch should buy
some god damn deodorant.
but as usual, Parks Canada lifts the health
advisory in time for September Long
like they do every year,
believing in the power of soft threats and permissive
parenting, certain suggested punishment
is punishment enough
Plus, the Park’s long weekend fee collection is the jackpot
of their revenues-- that covers all the toilets, trail maintenance
and campground wifi which of course, must be decent
as the rich congregate to roam in packs of apex predators
left unchecked, they are leaking in to overtake the shores
with swarming motors, spilling skins of oil as sneaking
rainbows that disperse around the docks
at the entrance all the rangers
pace, staring down the traffic dragging
past the gates, spilling their glares over dark
aviators to probe your passes. A ranger snakes
his tongue over one incisor and drags a snarled
kiss from the back of his uniform
teeth before he waves the driver on
meanwhile lake erie waits
with shallowed breath. She lets toxic
spores float in her waves, foaming
to keep all the bodies back
they crowd and roughhouse in her
sand, and she sleeps all the time, cant
eat, hasn’t picked up a brush, and is far
too tired to take a shower, for once
she sees it doesn’t matter--
If you disgust someone,
life is safer. So erie gives
us her most lifeless self,
she’s discovered, she can leave
the body if her eyes diffuse their focus
there’s a refuge in that blankness,
an sightless exhaustion
almost feels
like being
peaceful
*This poem was the best hometown entry of our 15th annual Writing in the Margins contest. We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Regina Public Interest Research Group (RPIRG) for this year’s contest.
