Democracy Emigrate,
a Dream Poem

Dusk, when shady characters creep
from crevices to collect debts.
I pace,
a tentacle hopefully curled around home,
on an errand I can’t recall but know is urgent.

I interrogate storefronts, search passing faces.
They’re on errands, too.
We all make maps
to polling stations, precincts slipping away,
the ball slicked out of sight in a shell game.

Gray bats dive,
biting like dirty needles.
I duck, then a desperate woman
seizes me by the lapels and screams:

How do you vote in this country?

I don’t have the heart to tell her
we don’t.