By Brittany Richman
‘Twas the night before voting, and all through the land,
Every candidate was stirring, each taking a stand.
Banners were hung by polling places with care,
In hopes that the outcome would be honest and fair.
The pundits were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of polls danced around in their heads.
And I, in my PJs, with ice cream piled high,
Looked at my ballot and wanted to cry.
When out on Instagram there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my phone to see what was the matter.
Away to the comment section I flew in a flash,
Watching memes of attack ads and political bash.
The moon on campaign signs, full of slogans and names,
Cast a glow on the promises that all sounded the same.
Then, what to my weary eyes should appear,
But arguments still buzzing in my feed of much fear.
With cable news anchors, who often fear monger,
I thought, “Was this real life? Isn’t anyone stronger?”
Both sides seemed so certain the other’d bring doom.
But I wanted hope, not more gut-wrenching gloom.
They stood at the podiums, their words they did spin,
I couldn’t help but wonder, how does anyone win?
Up at the debate stage their talking points flew,
With their bags full of promises, a recycled slogan or two.
Both sides with sound bites and speeches—not merry.
The other side painted to look wretched and scary.
I spoke not a word, just hit “like” here and there,
For which candidate to follow, I hadn’t a prayer.
And then, in a twinkling, I felt in my chest,
A faint little hope to put the debating to rest.
Maybe both sides are wrong, maybe both right
But together we’ll rise, if we decide not to fight
I sprung to my feet, just getting started
I’d no longer approach this election half-hearted
If hope—note hate—is our guide, we’ll say with delight,
“Happy voting to all, our future looks bright!”
