This is it. We’re up for grabs.
Edging sideways. Soft shell crabs.
Plashing to the polls in waves.
Some from castles, some from caves.
Sand is shifting underneath.
What shall we the world bequeath?
Four more years of mean rip tides?
All on this election rides.
In the coming fifty hours,
earth could turn to ice or flowers.
Human kindness out of fashion?
Can we resurrect compassion?
Watch the states turn blue and red.
Every minute brings more dread.
Beneath all, the worst of fears.
Russia, jamming up the gears.