Voting Early in Hamilton, Ohio

We cross these train tracks three or ten times
before the voting booth. We wait.
The words on slur cars blur past
before us. These words,
if you stand close enough to read
these profane poems, close enough
to notice, could be national anthems,
cries for justice
to be taken out on somebody worth less
than we are worth, which is what? Anonymous
because hate is truer in a child’s soul* and we
cannot be children now.

We never made an honest living. The honest
die with everyone else. Yet here we are,
where Alexander Hamilton's cape, brown and twisted
stars and stripes, flaps behind him.
He points to the sky and looks the other way.
What if our best days are over?
he says. How will you swing that?

We wait in line now, clutching forms
we’ll trade for electronic ballots.
A weathered woman, half the size of us,
does not hide her interest in our
post modern theories and stupid things
we say in class but she won’t contribute,
not even with a smile
aside our too loud laughter. Our dream
cannot exist if everyone is happy*

(*These lines were taken from a poem written by my friend "Joe the Poet." )