A poem about global warming

This is a poem about a poem about Treaty 6 and its six seasons
that I embarked on one scorching nīpin day 
all went well through turbulent tagwagin and mournful migiskaw
as the river froze up on cue
but then pīpon came and went in a flash
in five days of deep cold and deadlines
before sīkwan and mitoskamin rolled in all together
as one big confused melty mess of January slush and February freeze-thaw
leaving dreams of winter beauty and superpixelated crystal-cool boreal night skies
unfulfilled as the gears spilled out from the busted clockwork of seasonal regeneration
Old Man Winter doesn’t live here anymore
we banished him in favour of cheap flights to Cancun
and remote car starters

And thus the injustices continue to pile up
first we came for their land
then we came for their food supply
then their children
who we came for a second time in adulthood
through femicidal rage and a brand new cage
and just when we thought it was all over
we turned up the heat and took away the climate
the freeze-up moon and the frost moon are now one and the same
shining its dirty light upon the semi-molten mush
in the parking lots of South Edmonton Common
turns out Jacques Cartier and John Cabot had one last trick up their sleeve
when we colonized the seasons
and bequeathed Treaty 6 with a proper Euro-quadratic climate

Nobody misses a poem than never was
just like we don’t miss pīpon, the deep winter of the elders
because we all hate being cold, don’t we?
Who needs six seasons anyway?
Can’t you Indians live with just four like the rest of us?

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