I swear I met him.
A tall man, with a white wig
He had an overbite;
His stance erect.
The curtain hit his back.
His booted feet shuffled.
I heard him mumble,
Then turn and exit.
I asked him for the form.
He looked down at me,
And shook his head,
His hand outstretched.
I said: "this won't work, sir.
There are no marks here,
No decisions indicated,
Want to try again?"
"No, that's my vote," he said
No vote. . . there's no one
Who understands it anymore
What we wrote back then."
"There's no more perfect union,
no more domestic tranquility.
I can't pick from whom is offered
No way to know their soul."
You should have a
No Confidence machine here
To send a message to them.
Tell them George said so."
He turned his weathered shoulders
Toward the door and looked around;
His brow furrowed, his head low,
And touched the flag as he left.
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