Extracurricular

“We need to knock on more doors,” you say

when we spot another Osama/Binladen yard

sign. We sweat through our shirts

and I ask how your uncle is voting and you

say that yes he will vote for him even though

he calls him the “n-word.” The pavement is

cracked and split and the grass is dying and the

leaves are brown and the homework is piling up

but we keep going. Some houses have manicured

lawns and others have gutters hanging off and some

women have manicures and say “no they won’t” and

others have thrice-bitten nails and say “yes” or “maybe.”

We have to do it, we have to; you are eighteen and

can vote and I am seventeen and jealous but the Dow

is crashing and we don’t know where we’ll end up in

a year from now, if we end up anywhere at all.