Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 85: Vote. But Wear A Gas Mask

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid

the party politic

they were tired: 

promises. 

pontifications. 

rhetoric for mass appeal. 

pandering for 

emotive glee. 

every year,

every two, 

and then the 

ones on the four 

had become a circus

without three rings...

had no 

trained animals.

no flying trapeze. 

no dashing men 

on horseback, or 

women in the 

nets; 

it had all become

nothing more than

clouded horizons 

no one could see 

even from upper floors

with glass skin: 

wrinkled skin and wings 

of cigar smoke-stained

dreams that no one 

cared to 

remember. 

Poem©2011 R. Burnett Baker