His bony legs wrapped around my neck, I begin
moving slowly forward. I was hardly prepared
for the reality, the weight of carrying
the promise of democracy on my shoulders.
I stumble ahead, Joe mumbling something
about great economic engines, about
hard work and ingenuity. Grateful
that he has a helmet on, I climb over
a log obstacle, knocking him lightly
though his grip remains as tight as ever.
We cavort up a hill where the dew
has trickled down - a slippery slope.
Slowly, we climb the polls, my blue shoes still
matching my collar. Joe waves at the crowds
gathered to watch the spectacle, better
than reality TV. Ahead, one of our competitors
slips, dropping his wife headfirst
into a muddy pool. He comes up spluttering bile,
shouting while mothers cover their children's ears.
"It's your fault," he screams at his wife, still spitting mud.
She hands him his red hat, climbing back on.
Oscar Alberto Martinez and Angie Valeria
lie nearby face down in the water. "They should
drain this swamp," the man complains.
We're through the mud bath, Joe still clinging to me.
My first time, but he's run this twice before.
Leech-like, he won't give up. "Taxes,"
he manages to shout between bumps; "Zero emissions."
Before we pass the drought-brown white pines,
a small crowd of proud boys start
throwing beer cans and fear at America, pants down,
waving pasty flags: love it or leave it.
I stumble, unable to breathe, as an orange specter
warms up a black robed choir of six. The end is in my sights
as I slip, falling on bloodied knees to chants of "four more years."
I'm dizzy, seeing red, seeing stars, seeing stripes
so I barely notice when - impossible - Joe lifts me,
but he's not alone. A motley assortment of people
from the crowd are carrying me. I think
"so this is what he means by a social safety net"
as we pass the finish line. They put me down gently,
Joe resting on a rock called home. We break bread.
This table is ours, he says, all of ours. We pull up chairs -
everyone - "no hats at the table," he says
and we all wait patiently. "The corn is sacred," Joe begins,
"it is the epitome of e pluribus unum, symbolic
of our pact with nature. And it has ears. It's time," he sat,
"to sit down and put our them to use." I pass the salt.
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