Election Day

November 6, 2018

In the weak light of November
coffee-breathed we wait and wend
hope and helplessness comingling
citizens together

the line moves slow but steady
and nobody begrudges
widows greeting poll workers
or the stolid patience
of the man charged with explaining
the vagaries of a touch screen
to the mystified unchurched —

“So like fairies,” Eudora Welty
once said to Willie Morris.

there is a man I once played golf with
with a flag pin in his lapel
and a young woman with a baby
balanced on her hip ….

anarcho-syndicalists
stayed across the hallway from me
we’d drink beer together sometimes
and listen to the Buzzcocks
and the Picket Line Coyotes ….

We were cool together.
They never damned me, that’s a fact.
Still I found their proselytizing
convincing as a Jack Chick tract.

So I go and get my holy
there’s nothing else I know to try
and they stick that sticker on me
and something catches in my eye
sunlight dances in the graveyard
where the dead leaves crack and dry.


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