Getting out the Vote

I’m getting out the vote —
my vote,

from the inertia of my laziness,
self-importance of my busyness,
contempt of local issues and candidates
as if they were not the foundation
of everything else,

and discouragement with my country,
as if it were exempt
from troubles other countries face.

I’m getting out the vote,
my vote,
because the decisions I make
by reading the fine print
on those long propositions,
grass-roots (that’s a verb, you know)
changes I long to see —
in gun control, immigration justice,
climate change,

and, honestly, because my mother’s ghost
taps me on the shoulder
to remind me
she was rolled in a wheelchair
to the voting booth
where one poll worker
read the ballot
because she was blind,
and another, seeing her crippled fingers,
marked her choices,

and she also reminds me,
(as she did in life)
of those who died to register voters,
those still disenfranchised
by blatant racism,
and places in the world
where people are ambushed
on the way the polls.

And, looking at me, still ghostly, asks —
are you really that lazy, that busy?

(If you have a chance, please vote today)