Poem: "Voting Booth"

source: new york times

their children's legs stick out of
the nylon curtains

pretending to vote

Scott says he

became political when
he was six,

Truman

was president.

Mom stays in the car,

having already cast her vote,
the voting commissioners will fuck it up, though

On the way no one knows

who to vote

dappled road

smiling

ken davis

whenever my dad
had a few Pabst Blue
Ribbons then later it was miller -
he would run down FDR

a Pinko

and Edwin Edwards -

because we knew he was
a crook

better the crook you

know -

Buddy Tauzin drove up on
the trains tracks in La Place,

ruffled

feathers draped across
the front of the caboose -

touching the crevice of a hole,
chiseled into the polished marble,
wall of the State Capitol
where Senator Long was shot
in Second Grade,
a school field trip, -
with Ms. Cerami,
we were allowed to trace our fingers into the depressed hole -

consciousness is a tumulus on
the plain of death

"cowards die many times
before their deaths, the brave
only once"

 PDF Copy for Printing © 2010 Greig Roselli