Election day creeped up like a case of the crud. Yesterday, all day, and into the night, till morning, this fanatic was engaged in the 'squirts' from minor food mishap, gustatory, and maybe was, on my part, negligent. Sick at both ends, as a cheery old aunt might quip. With limb-flapping time slots of pain. Followed with relief. And awareness of being ill. Seems better at the moment. Will maybe commit more resource to washing the dishes once in a while. And now I feel well enough to go vote.
Elections here deserve mention for Spartan sparseness. Few voters pass in and out the basement of a dark brick public school for special needs persons, those scholars needing large supervisory human elementals. Mortals. Laboring souls in the field. But at the upstairs of the voting place, McNaugher School is a stern-looking institution, vacant and for sale, old like some sort big male thespian that stamped his role model on young television veiwers, such as this writer once was. A conveyance of authority, even if composed of vacant marble slabs, and the bogus memory grown from decades of watching television, makes my few minutes in the Perryhilltop voting place the stern punch of the time clock, the way everyone who went to school has a permant record card, which could favor or dun your poor miserable ass for a life time, or even eternity.
A local election in Perrhilltop is never dry, always wet watercolors running into shallow ponds of confusion. I've cast my vote in that dank school basement enough times over the last fifteen years to feel as though I drank wasted pictures of a place that doesn't resolve. I'm slightly proud to have voted.
No comments:
Post a Comment