Poll Dance
I’ve been standing in this line at least four hours now.
Some people right behind me seem about to have a cow.
Trump pickups, honking, drive by with long rifles and their guns.
I wonder how a father feels who has some Proud Boy sons.
A sea of red and ugly topped with standard MAGA hats.
A couple tough gals just walked by, carrying baseball bats.
I wonder if it’s worth this ordeal for just my one vote,
then snap back to my senses and retrieve this mental note:
four years losing sleep at night because of his delusions;
wondering how the world will react to his wrong conclusions;
watching immigrants get caged and children separated;
watching peaceful protesters become a thing he hated;
seeing corporations bolstered by his cut in tax;
hearing lies get redefined as ‘alternative facts’;
gasping as he gives his children governmental clearance;
grasping at reality spurred by his strange appearance;
and his ties with Russia, which we know nothing about.
My innermost conviction tells me that my vote has clout.
I’ll throw it back into their faces! I will be my best.
And when I finally get inside, my vote’s for Kanye West.