Election Day, suburb corners vomit yard signs,
the post-Halloween chill cracks my dry hands,
knuckles bleed. Republican attack dogs threaten
my life behind their fences. Cowards
make my job humorous. I hear your TV; see you peek
from the corner of the curtains.
Yet in Ybor City
I stop and wonder about Mom and her dogs,
recall the moment we first heard Barack speak,
the Convention: ‘red states and blue states!’
The next yard is destroyed
with paper plates and coke bottles. A cat on the creaky
broken porch swing ages beyond purring
and three kids in the street told me they voted
in mock elections. Then their bright faces
scamper past homes that smell like gasoline.
I meet a twenty-five-year-old who’s shut-in
mother won’t vote because she refuses
to leave home.
“