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Three Rings/Election Day
Fill blebs with fine black ballpoint
—judicial hopefuls, port commissioners,
gun control, preschool, bus routes—
seal and sign and stamp
and walk through misty grey
to mailbox. My favorite method, punching
through stiff card with sharp pin,
more American than this new scrunching,
solitary, at desk with pen, later,
with silent dog—interested only in the scent
of mailbox legs—pulling wide metal maw
of blue, dropping my choices
into credit payment and birthday wish obscurity.
How did it get there, grey car smashed
into fence? All is quiet on walking past—
air bags limp and grey at steering wheel