Your conspiratorial wink
seeks my complicit nod.
A pact, an inside joke
among us privileged.
What’s the punch line today?
Racism? Xenophobia? Homophobia?
Today the tacit agreement ends.
I will look you in the eye – unflinchingly –
and say, “No more!”
Straight. Into. The. Mirror.
dVerse Quadrille #68: Wink
Glass Ballot Box circa 1884, Smithsonian Institute, public domain photo
As we near the midterm elections in the US, it is becoming clearer and clearer that voter suppression is alive and well in 2018. When voting at the polls, make sure you know your rights.
Acme voting machine circa 1880, Smithsonian Institute, public domain photo
Here are some important takeaways from a CNN online article found here:
If you are told you cannot vote
ask poll workers to check surrounding systems for your name.
ask to sign an affidavit swearing your eligibility.
ask for a provisional ballot and follow up later to make sure it’s counted.
if you are denied or feel intimidated, report the incident to any poll workers present, AND
report the incident to local officials or the Department of Justice Voting Rights hotline*
Metal ballot box circa 1936, Smithsonian Institute, public domain photo
Phone Numbers that may be useful:
Election Protection Hotline: 1-866-OUR-VOTE
Election Hotline (en español): 1-888-VE-Y-VOTA
*US Department of Justice Voting Rights Hotline: 1-800-253-3931
The information above is taken from the CNN article “Here’s what to do if you’re turned away at the polls.“
Once upon a stormy night,
it was a dark and dreary time.
Did you hear the one about…
You’re not going to believe this rhyme.
It all begins on Halloween,
this scary tale I’ve yet to weave.
I do not know the ending yet;
it took so long, the start to leave.
I’m sure there’re bats and witch’s brew,
lightning crackling in the sky,
the mournful howls of shrouded souls,
an icy breeze when ghosts glide by.
Something frightening will occur,
a horrid nightmare come to life.
We must escape impending doom.
A curse? a ghoul? a bloodied knife?
Though terror strikes, Good will prevail.
Ghosts disappear with dawn’s first light.
We’ll be forewarned of danger still
in shadows deep on stormy nights.
And so it ends, as all tales do.
The rest is history as they say.
We all live happily ever more.
We live to fight another day.
The details of this scary tale —
as sketchy as they seem to be —
are yours to conjure in your mind
and fill the blanks in as you please.
If any moral lies herein,
I leave that point for you to hone.
The yarns I spin unravel fast.
Collect the threads and weave your own.
I don’t know when the original hardwood flooring was covered with carpet. Times change. Tastes change. A beautiful, gleaming oak floor in the mid-fifties came – over time – to be seen as an outdated, cold, hard to maintain surface. Carpets – with so many shades and textures to choose from, so warm to the feet on cold mornings, so… modern! – were slapped down right over the top of the oak floors. Adding insult to injury, no one even bothered to use drop cloths when they spray-textured and painted the walls before laying the carpet.
Times change. Tastes change. When I discovered the oak floor beneath the tacky, cheap, outdated carpet, I was delighted! Scratches, minor water stains, tack and staple holes give it charm and character to my eye. I will not revive it to its pristine 1955 condition. I will clean it up and let it blend in with the industrial chic vibe of other rooms in the house.
Times change. Tastes change. A new homeowner will come along some day. They won’t see the hardwood floors as the treasure that I do. They’ll likely wonder why I exposed the cold, outdated eyesore of distressed wood flooring. They’ll cover it with god-only-knows what. Hopefully, as the transition from trend to trend and back again continues, the stalwart wood will at least be given the courtesy of a drop cloth. Is that too much to ask?
autumn turns to fall
transitioning to itself
changed yet unchanging
Haibun Monday – Transitions
“You’re early!” she complains.
“Better early than late, right?” I smile.
“Better early than never, I suppose.”
I’m not so sure.
Too late for never, though.
“I’ll go,” I say.
She scowls. “And come back when?”
Never say never, I’m reminded.
“Soon,” I lie.
dVerse Quadrille prompt #67 – early