2016 November 8

The elderly
insist
on
the
end
of
the
line
at my precinct’s polling station.
The young
round
corner
hurried,
see line,
moan,
stay.
Fucks
like me,
moldy,
obligated to fucking what?
thumb
our
phones
on
an
app
bought
to
thumb
poems
in waiting rooms.

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