A Grand American Tradition

Voting day at long last has arrived. Scrambling through closet, a cavernous space in accumulation. In the deepest darkest corner, purpose achieved, garnering my three by five inch American flag, glorious yet demure. This my opportunity to come out of the closet, unveiled, exposed, an upstanding silent majority American patriot. Flag of three colors in one hand, timeless roll of duct tape in other the symbol of freedom to be bound, respectfully, securely, to the antenna of my auto. Such a glorious noble sight, a parade of one, yet millions in situ as neighbors shutter their mind blinds and lock their doors. I stand in awe. Engorged excitement, dressed in best suit and tie. My faded red sixty five Subaru, now Lincoln Continental morphed in patriotism, rolls thirty five miles per hour. No more, no less under rule of law, this a day of national law compliance as no other. The voting station strategically positioned adjacent the county landfill, shimmers in the radiance of liberty, or perhaps toxic landfill gas. This a singular psychedelic acid rush vision. Donald Trump greeted me as I entered the hallowed hall, remarking, I was no pussy. I thought he'd be taller, he bid me entrance. The Lions Club was hosting a pancake breakfast, I declined as my stomach was bound in knots of anticipation. Hillary Clinton reposed behind the official card table, smiling her trademark look of resplendent surprise, a true Duracell Energizer Bunny moment. Requesting my voter identification, I offered my newest library card. She said , “This will do fine!” then directed to the corner of the round room. There Mike Pence and Tim Kaine held an olive drab army surplus blanket on high, securing the area of vote and privacy. I walked the distance in miles of quaking Jello, breathless, quivering linoleum tiles beneath my feet. Beaming in political grandeur they parted the drapery to the hallowed area within. There on a table resplendent in national pride rested two wicker baskets, one of apples, one of oranges. I made my predetermined selection shakily, placed it reverently into the white porcelain receptacle strategically occupying the table center. Radiating patriotism, eyes aglow, I strode proudly as a contributing citizen, in the land of choice and freedom, toward the exit door. Vladimir Putin placed an “I Voted” sticker on my chest as a medal of honor for all to see and envy. I drove away, looking back to savor the moment one last time. I glimpsed Barrack Obama pushing a heaping wheelbarrow of fruit into the landfill for the final tallying of the vote. A grand American tradition fulfilled. Robert Gene Stoner Jr © 10/25/16