[The twentieth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Accidental Like"
Cole Hartley
There's McElroy out in front playing grand marshal,
Acting like it was him, not Daugherty, that caught the monster.
He's spouting loud, for all his potential voters to hear,
But I can remember how he seethed when he first found out
I was going to run against him in next week's election.
He told me I didn't have the stature to be mayor, the presence or smarts.
No, I was destined to be his lackey, only good for legwork.
"This is your time to shine, Grantwood!" he sucks up now to the crowd.
That's when I sidle up behind and graze his heel with my foot.
The blowhard goes down easy, and as he rolls back under
The marching mob as if the very blacktop were a conveyor belt,
I stride ahead and promptly replace him in the pole position.
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