Polling Day.

An unforgiving thick, black font
blares out a message through time.
Men with rosettes,
well wrapped up, safe and smug,
show their faces and smile.
They are thinking of nobody in particular.
People fought and died for this.
Way in.

A list of humanity
crossed through one by one.
Numbers, names, roads, hearts.
A stumpy pencil tied to a string.
The worn edges
of a battered old black box.
It is time to make your cross.
Think on.
Take care!


This entry was posted in Poetry..

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s