Election Day Caption Contest

David Branstool: He Floats to the Top.

Yesterday, I gathered all the giant, colorful campaign flyers up into a prodigious pile. Reflected briefly on the all trees that died that they may stuff our mailbox. Read through a few, noting that they all said the same thing. Noted that they were mass-produced, and the name and unflattering photo du jour of So-and-So was merely digitally inserted in the graphics. Reflected briefly on the ugly political machine that cranked them out, and thought about the next horizon of media it will employ to deploy its prefab lies on a weary populace. Will we get texts? Wall posts? Instant messages? So-and-so's gonna waste your tax dollars and want more! So-and-so's gonna take your guns away! So-and-so's on the side of the radicals who want the government to pay for abortions! Look, here's our so-and-so with a muzzleloader! Really. That  soo makes me want to run out and cast my vote for her, the fact that she took a photo-op at a gun club. Oh, look. Flannel.

I put them all in a pile and lit them. Because the paper was so expensive--heavy coated cardstock--and because there were so many of them, I had to stand there and poke for quite awhile before they were all clean white ash, which come spring I will spread on the garden.  At least they're good for something.

Standing there for so long helped me come up with the first in what I hope will be a large outpouring of captions for this photo. Have at it. Or, in the spirit of Election Day, just try to edge out Murr Brewster  with something snortworthy. Good luck!

Oh, and go vote, willya?

Swing State

An evening rally in a swing state. Front Street fills up with people.

Police watch from rooftops in a pastel sky
and pigeons swirl around the courthouse, watching as well.
There are people I haven't met
and some that I have. We call undecided voters from our cellphones.
Our mayor plays guitar and sings.Two from our band moonlight.
I am happy to see them.
The old armory cries out for salvation
It's a fine backdrop, even empty and worn.Full moon peeks at the shimmering crowd--a logo unto herself
Flag points her out. O!
Some watch from windows as the sky goes black.
Buses arrive. A motorcade whoops down the inky street,blue and red lights mixing to violet on the bus's flanks.Waves heave through the crowd
and the band finishes up.Everyone waits
and he emerges.
The roar goes on and on.
At last, he speaks.
He tells us what he can doand leaves us changed.