The Song of the Sledded Polack

"As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.'
Tis strange"

Hamlet Act 1, Scene 1

Our town is "Our Town"
Rescuing Polacks from snowdrifts happens most days.

Poem Written at Twenty Below

The Song of the Sledded Polack

I'm that perseverent Pole. The Yellow Knife drifter.
The poor sledded Polack. I ain't no grifter.
My plan of attack is to keep coming back.
Won't you please? Won't you please? Just give me a lift, sir?

Yes, I'm that very Polack as Shakespeare has written:
That was once on the ice by King Claudius smitten.
Now I'm up here inYellow Knife stuck in a drift.
Won't you please, kind friend, please give me a lift?

Drygulched and fordone by that stinking Dane, Claudius
Yet, heaven forfend, tell me where the party is.
Give me 10 bucks and get me out of this drift.
A poor freezing Polack on the midnight shift.

I'm pure Polanaise. I should be dancing a minuet
Stuck here in Yellow Knife and I'm not very Inuit.
Yes, I'm here now but it's where you gotta go:
A ghost of a ghost alone in the snow.

I'm that perseverent Pole. The Yellow Knife drifter.
The poor sledded Polack. I ain't no grifter.
My plan of attack is to keep coming back.
Won't you please? Won't you please just give me a lift, sir?