The perfect voter has a smile but no eyes,
maybe not even a nose or hair on his or her toes,
maybe not even a single sperm cell, ovum, little paramecium.
Politics is a slug copulating in a Poughkeepsie garden.
Politics is a grain of rice stuck in the mouth
of a king. I voted for a clump of cells,
anything to believe in, true as rain, sure as red wheat.
I carried my ballots around like smokes, pondered big questions,
resources and need, stars and planets, prehistoric
languages. I sat on Alice's mushroom in Central Park,
smoked longingly in the direction of the mayor's mansion.
Someday I won't politic anymore, my big heart will stop
loving America and I'll leave her as easy as a marriage,
splitting our assets, hoping to get the advantage
before the other side yells: Wow! America,
Vespucci's first name and home of free and brave, Te amo.
by Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton
Denise Duhamel's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Exquisite Politics by Denise Duhamel )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- The Mystery Of Word, Bazi alis Subrata Ray
- Men who see no day, Zimba Sundrogo
- Handsome and king, hasmukh amathalal
- Stoned by sadness, Nalini Chaturvedi
- The Goodness of a Life-mate (Section-6 .., rajendran muthiah
- Heart to, hasmukh amathalal
- An Ode to my Tree, Kelly Curiel
- foliage, snehanair manikkath
- Love Lures Life! - sonnet-, Manjeshwari P MYSORE
- Yamashita/Medina Standard, Richard Thripp