Archive
11/06/12 - (1)
A Single Vote
I never did secure a solitary, single second of serene sleep On the evening of November 5; My frets, fears, frights, fugues, fantasies got the better of my rest.
Indeed, last night, I suffered an ordeal of colossal fitfulness, Struggling to quell a mercilessly ineradicable sequence of demons Hellbent on keeping me from exercising my vote for president, etc.,
Sidetracking me from arriving at my assigned polling station, Casting my franchised vote, Constitutionally guaranteed me — My inalienable birthright as a card-carrying American citizen —
Sabotaging my deeply innate desire to share in the democratic process, By denying me a paper ballot and a regulation black or blue pen, Contending that my identity didn't correspond with their official data
And that even the picture on my state-issued driver's license Carried the likeness not of me but that of an alleged terrorist Currently circulating on the CIA's "To Be Shot on the Spot" Website.
How my nightmare could have degraded into such a clustered fuckup Is beyond the dead reckoning of my most rational cogitations. All I know is this: standing in line, this 6 a.m., I'm dizzy, bleary-eyed,
And worst of all, I'm certain, now, that I left my glasses at home. (Being all but legally blind without them, I can't see three inches in front of me, let alone the toes on my feet.)
To my surprise, my license photo and I recognize each other. Miraculously, I'm able to scratch my signature and initials, in the boxes, And take my tabloid-size paper ballot to an open-sided booth, Only to see that I can't see any of the names, propositions, ovals, Make the distinctions requisite to registering my decisions As to who's and what's most deserving to represent my best interests.
In a paroxysm of utter frustration erupting into demon-driven histrionics, I crumple, uncrumple the ballot, then rip it into a thousand pieces of confetti And gather them in my fists, cast them into a nearby trash basket.
Dashing to the exit, racing down the trafficked corridor, To the suffocating lot, where I parked my car, four hours ago, I pray that each and all those I haven't chosen don't lose by a single vote,
So that, at least this evening, I'll get a sorely needed serene night's sleep, Not be mistaken for the Underwear Bomber, and that even if I am, Obama (if he wins without my vote) will rescind his kill order.
11/06/12 - (1)
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