Political Post

I did not listen to the speakers at the Democratic National Convention last night. I sat in my yellow chair beside a rainy window and worked on a new poem. Then I read a few pages of Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters. Then I watched part of The Sting. Then I went to bed.

I am deeply cynical about the Machiavellian machinations embedded into every side of the American political story. I am weary of publicity galas and wary of quotable enthusiasms. I'm glad that my liberal friends were so happy about the speeches last night, but I was unable to watch them.

Still, there is no question about whom I will vote for this fall. Whatever discomfort I feel with the Democrats and with the general awfulness of American grandstanding pales beside the stark monstrosity of the future: Donald Trump must not become president of the United States.

I am no fan of Ted Cruz, but I know he's right when he asks, "How can I support a candidate who ridiculed my wife and made false claims about my father?" Voting as his conscience directs him means not throwing his own family under the bus. And he gets booed for this? What is wrong with our nation?

Likewise, certain supporters of Bernie Sanders are deriding their chosen candidate because he has told them that his own ambitions are now less important than the fate of the country. How can they be such idiots?

Donald Trump must not become president of the United States. We, the voters, cannot allow a fascist to take power. That's the emergency issue we are dealing with. Everything else is just glitter.