On election day a rag of snow
endorses the tired landscape.
Dawn doesn’t break but creeps on all fours
to the edge of the forest and howls
that silent howl we recognize
with our last tatter of instinct.
Have you brushed your teeth well enough
to emboss a smile on whatever
texture requires it? Seated
at my breakfast, a bowl of dust,
I wish I could stand in line
with my fellow voters and hear
discussions of plain human problems
that have nothing to do with power—
an abstraction deadly to invoke.
You note that as a simple white male
I possess a claim denied others;
but when I look in the mirror, I see
a snowdrift by the roadside, filthy
with detritus and longing to thaw.
Yes, I’m being foolish. Too smug
in my skin, I’m ready to shed it
for the sake of some grave tenet
that applies to each evolved being
and fits neatly as a body bag.
Sorry to violate this shy
and monochromatic sunrise,
but we both know how vicious
a smile seems when its victim
has finished counting its teeth.
