the polls

Last time, I missed the turn.

The long drive that outlines the edge of the property isn't marked, isn't lit, or barely, or except by the light of the moon. After a handful of visits spread across five years, it's familiar, but not quite enough, or not at that hour of the morning. So last time, I missed the turn.

But I doubled back and pulled in, following behind the tail lights of one pick-up truck or another down to the cramped parking lot, glad to have trouble finding a space. I'm here for the community, the random collection of probably-strangers; I'm here to join the line of laborers and commuters that need to get to work near dawn-- but only after voting.

Last time, there was a hopeful buzz. Despite the dark, despite the chill, despite the traffic growing heavier. It felt as if we were doing something. Good thing for the moment we couldn't have known. This time, I hope and pray it's different even as I look forward to it being exactly the same. Small talk with apparent neighbors. A few minutes of diligent marking. A glance at the counter. A smile and a sticker. Anticipation and satisfaction all at once. And this time, please baby Jesus, change.

This week I've been making a few calls for Obama; tonight I reminded folks--really old folks, mostly-- they could vote early. I could have, too, but I didn't, not wanting to miss it. I know that's silly. But heck, when one is 89 missing it might have a much different meaning. And as the time before last showed, in Florida, we need to use every strategery.