(no subject)
Bounding up to sign a census, with a dog old enough to vote. One last day of trying the friendliest way of bringing down the government ever. Running around with no moments rest, getting word out to the people. Dementia emergencies, a sort of bigoted woman, too many smoke breaks, addresses that don't exist. Exhaustion, cameraderie and dehydration bring adrenaline, as rumours of a nation's uprising trickles to the ears of us soldiers on the street. Bouncing off friends, meeting the family. Last manic moments checking you've voted. Then waiting, alone, in a town no longer home. Standing at the end of a union street, as clocks from beautiful towers chime and polls close behind me.
Nowhere to go but my father's house. Friends hounding me for views, planning dashes for parties that'll never be.
Staying up to watch the slow grinding death of a dream. Hearts broken.
It was worth a shot. We brought the people.
Nowhere to go but my father's house. Friends hounding me for views, planning dashes for parties that'll never be.
Staying up to watch the slow grinding death of a dream. Hearts broken.
It was worth a shot. We brought the people.