Poem: "Voting Booth"

their children's legs stick out of
the nylon curtains
pretending to vote

Scott says he
became political when
he was six,
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

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,
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

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