Pierre the Turtle, his troops and the art of the loop

By Lethbridge Herald on December 19, 2025.

Editor,

In a big marble room with cameras and hats,

Sat rows of MPs behind polished chats.

Among them, a seat marked Lethbridge in name,

Present in number, but absent in aim.

Not front of the room where the questions are tough,

Not speaking for workers when answers are rough,

But placed just behind where applause is enough,

Where visibility counts more than saying “enough.”

Along came the leader with noise and with flair,

Selling bold slogans composed mostly of air.

“I’ve got answers!” he cried. “I’ve got plenty to say!”

(Just don’t ask for details, or how they’ll be paid.)

And there sat the member elected back home,

In camera-shot rows, but far from the zone

Where Lethbridge’s worries—rent, wages, and care—

Might interrupt talking points floating midair.

Smile when required. Applaud on cue.

Stand when they stand—efficient, in view.

A practiced routine, well managed, well lit,

Designed to perform, not necessarily to represent.

Town halls, you see, are unruly affairs.

They come with real people and unscripted stares.

With questions that don’t fit a broadcasted frame,

And answers that must carry a local name.

And so the pages turn, the spectacle neat,

Confidence delivered from a carefully chosen seat.

But somewhere south of the marble and lights,

A city keeps asking, on ordinary nights:

Who speaks for Lethbridge when cameras are gone?

Who shows up unscripted, not just nodding along?

Because leadership isn’t the claps you can make,

Or smiling agreement for someone else’s sake.

At some point, representation must loop back through:

From the floor of the House—to the people who choose.

And the question remains, unresolved and uncouth:

Is Lethbridge being heard—or just visible proof?

(With apologies to Dr. Suess.)

John LaForest 

Lethbridge