by Rick Young | Nov 3, 2020 | Poem
I’ve got a lot in common with my cat.
It’s more than we’re both getting old and fat.
Now he sleeps with my wife as I go about my life,
caught in a nowhere betwixt this and that.
While oftentimes we slouch, entangled on the couch,
there are times we don’t engage for hours.
He doesn’t like the rain, or my arthritis pain.
Neither one of us think much of baths or showers.
I sweep his hair off the floor
once a month and not much more.
All the clothing in the house looks like angora.
With the white hair on our faces,
we go many the same places.
He’s my fave of all fauna and flora.
by Rick Young | Nov 3, 2020 | Poem
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.
