election

"Hey, Laura, how about some freakin' new poetry?"
"Gosh, I dunno! That sounds like a really good idea!"

...So, it's been awhile. Unfortunately, the poem I have to offer here is not new. I wrote it on this most recent Election Day. Without further ado...

disenchanted,
the yellow moon hangs low:
the lone witness to this,
our greatest triumph,
our proudest defeat
as november breathes her pallid breath
and fills hearts and throats
with autumn fire.

with tired shining eyes
we gather at this unholy temple -
not elevating stripes and stars
but worshiping the mindless god,
the god of chad and of me;
seized with fever, blind to reason
as hope begins to cloud.

en masse, the people brave
their boredom and
their judgment, in these,
communities of solitude,
weighted down with thrilling fear
of seven seas and reaching arms.

but no devil lurks in this pen,
and no paper angel;
and in the box
waits no apocalypse.
if hope prevails, then so shall we.

if well-intentioned promises
instead evoke catastrophe -
up from ash and soot we'll rise
and, in learning, become free.