by Susan Vespoli
Feeling cranky about mean election signs
along Phoenix streets that tell lies or say F**k
one candidate’s prayers, (paid for by his Republican
opponent for Senate) yet finding myself laughing
at the Hitler mustaches graffitied onto the upper lip
of Trump and Kari Lake, I tell myself to breathe,
ask my granddaughter about Addy,
the 4th grade friend she calls talented. How so? I ask,
and Molly replies, well, she can suck in her breath
so hard her nostrils seal shut, and she can stand on her head
and balance her water bottle on the sole of one of her shoes.
Did you see her do it? I ask. Yes, she nods. I exhale.
Susan Vespoli believes in the power of writing to heal. Her poems have been published in NVN, Rattle, ONE ART, Anti-Heroin Chic, and other cool spots.
