Towards A Post-11/4 World

Wil-Mar Center polling station. 7:15am. A line around the block. The sun rising gently over the trees along the lake behind us. Pajamas and wet hair, some in ties on the way to the office. A homeless dog sniffs around the playground for breakfast or maybe a tax cut. The door to the building is propped open with a sign that offers voting assistance upon request. The line snakes past the mural depiction of the Willy Street Fair, a flier for an upcoming Ludefisk dinner, the free bread bins, a gentlemen with a tired face checking email in the computer lab. 8:00am. There are very few people with last names starting A-L in line, the man behnd me cites healthy German consonants as the reason. A white-haired poll worker yells for "A-L last name registered voters or any unregistered voters", sending the line into a little confused fury. A woman gently asks him to yell about one item at a time. The referrenda are taped to the wall with masking tape and the hurried enthusiasm of posters hung in a teenage bedroom. The explanations are both simple for space constraints and confusing for those reading them for the first time. Registered voter M-Z? Last name, address. 8:15. A small piece of paper with the number 307. A blue folder with the coveted white questions peaking out. A few steps to a flimsy plastic booth. A pen, a line. A change.

Over the Rhine - If A Song Could Be President (mp3)