Election Night, 2016

Doing laundry that night
to keep myself from watching the news
too closely; I was almost certain of the outcome,
so why get upset over ups and downs along the way?
My husband at his computer, watching; his face
each time I came back upstairs—his face, and every time,
I fooled myself. If I just stayed downstairs long enough,
things would change, he’d come running down to tell me.
But it was only a dead leaf scudding around in the wind and damp,
the sick, wet clouds of everything changing, except my husband’s face.


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