North of downtown, wide driveways, MAGA pumpkins, porticoes.
South of downtown, parked-up streets, apartments, one-person porches.
East of downtown, Lake Michigan rushes the seawall.
What issues matter to you?
My issue is the $30K bill the city sent my dying mother for repaving. Had the union come wire my signs to the fence, people kept pulling them up. Lies and hate will never make us great!
Behind a door a white bulldog scrabbles. Bursting out. Why do you women want to kill your babies.
Ring.
Ring with eyeball.
Ring with gridded speaker.
We’re not home but you can leave a message.
I’m at work right now, what is this about?
Young mother at the door clutches folded t-shirts to her chest. She really represents us and what we want for our children. Two small boys peek through the window blinds.
Man in work gloves. We’re not interested.
Man in black pickup. Whatever it is you’re selling we’re not interested.
Man with toddler. She’s making dinner so we’re not interested.
Young man with brown white-muzzled dog. I don’t want to discuss politics.
Young man with huge tubes through his earlobes. Not registered and not interested right now.
What excites you about his economic plan? Honesty, said the woman smiling, and because he’s a businessman.
Who can be pushed
by whom
for whom
Me siento que a él no le gustan los inmigrantes. Para mi está bien, soy puertorriqueña, pero tengo amigos.
I don’t trust either one of them but okay I’ll vote for her.
The doorbell is lit.
The doorbell is broken.
The doorbell plays Copland.
Eighty-seven and I have cancer but I have never missed an election. Thirty years in the air force and I used to tell my men, if I drop dead roll me over so I can vote.
The woman whose two grown sons came home to live with her. I have a question I heard something about transgender surgeries for prisoners. I don’t want my tax dollars to pay for that.
He’s not a well man but I can’t vote for her on account of the babies. Stay warm. Be blessed.
The screen door is open.
The screen door is locked.
The screen door is broken.
We are with you said the man. Five-pointed stars stenciled on the porch floorboards. But we can’t put up signs, said the woman, eyes sideways on the house next door.
Pulling a red truck into her driveway, wristful of beaded bracelets. I don’t watch the news. Got no issues, got no time to talk. I don’t vote. Almost wistful. I would love to see a woman in there.
The economy.
The economy and the border.
The economy, the border, and the Packers game is on.
Won’t tell you who I’m voting for but I agree with you one thousand percent.
If she wins I’m afraid we’ll have a civil war said the man who opened the door partway. One eye on the street.
The man who thought he already voted but hasn’t. The woman sweeping leaves in the street. The woman who is voting for the woman.
Saving our democracy.
I just want peace in our country.
West of downtown, dust and gas smudge the sky.
The mobile spins to its collision.
––
Edith Friedman is a poet, parent and sometime project manager who lives in Northern California. She admires the ways of people and plants, and tries not to second guess. Her collection Reconstruction was selected by Lee Ann Roripaugh for the 2024 Lefty Blondie Press First Chapbook Award. Recent writing appears in Rogue Agent, Five Minutes, Aôthen, and Nifty Lit.
