The mayor of Cabbagetown has died
and the city grows quiet, ears pressed
to flesh and memory, listening for
he no longer tells
are painted into the gingerbread trim
of Carlton Street storefronts and
of costumed children
pang at future Halloweens before a house
drab with the cavity of true death, so unlike
the jolly spectacle
of years past
continues on the Parliament parade route,
hesitantly creeping, unguided by its Marshal:
the mayor of Cabbagetown has died.
I wish I had less trivial words and memories by which to honour the death of a man who did so much for my city. Goodbye, Mr. Orbach.
When you die, what do you want people to remember and say about you?