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The Last Debate

Opponents are seated this time,
Positions and questions rehearsed;
Prepared for rebuttals in kind,
In all facts and figures immersed.

Television crews are positioned,
Moderator is well-prepared;
Coaches have made their decisions,
Weaknesses and strengths compared.

When they go at it a nation will watch,
or at least a good portion thereof;
An election might hang on this match,
Each trying to propel himself above...

Republican Romnesia or Obamacare economy,
The outcome will determine our final legacy.

Election 2012

     Well, it is finally almost over.  A couple more visits by the two candidates, and then on Nov. 6th anyone who did not vote absentee can vote real-time so to speak. 

     I have never seen so many imploring, grasping, begging emails - would have never thought something like this was possible.   It made me perturbed with both parties.   Grabbing for dollars like that, just so they can run another foul advertisement slamming their opponent.   With prices going up on everything, it is hard enough to make ends meet.  And now this grabbing monster of a political process wants to shake every loose coin out of our pockets.  It is disgusting, and I wish there were some way to change it. 

Work fantasy

At work today, the world ended, or seemed to.

No one would speak to me - they talked into their phones, and occasionally glanced my way - but did not say a work.  They could have been looking at air, or a painting on the wall.

 

I continued in my rounds, numbed, upset.  They usually ask me how I’m doing, or say something.  Not this time.

 

     And then I saw it, over by the window on the far wall.  The glowing shape.  Was it a trick of the eyes?  I looked away, and then back again.  It was still there.

 

     They had been talking about the strike.  But they never talked about who the owners were.

 

Apparently, the owners had sent a representative to negotiate.   And I, who had glided around there making fun and laughing, I was being shut out.  And it scared the hell out of me.

     The light-construct appeared on every floor that I went to.  I uttered no more jokes, I drew no more funny pictures on the elevator lumber.  I meekly made my rounds.  And when it came time to go home, and I had to leave through that rear door, the sun seemed much brighter than usual.   Mustering all of my courage, I walked through that pastiche of light    (“how dare they imped me, a contractor, anyway?”) 

I tingled all the way home, but otherwise seemed none the worse for wear.    Darned out-system union busters.

                                             *** the end***