Absentee Voters


OH, to carry on with Sunday…in the campy hamlet.

A healthy respect too easy, an ill retort too ready to sublet.

Mothers in slipper clogs.

Pajama bottoms designed for autumn.

Undeclared churches looking to a hitch a ride.

Ferals scattering with the sound of sirens…

NO place left to hide.

A place needle-ful with pride.

There is a trick…said, the prophets in cloaks…

‘to guarding against self control.’

Painstaking so…when the guard left the gates wide open…

with rabbit down the hole!

Thus, a scattering of orphans, just sitting around the hut with an absentee ballot in hand…

And, a pocketful of luck!

Just a sleepy Sunday town of tarnished sitting ducks.

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