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.