I Hear America Singing (A Canvassing Poem)

America, I don't know how You got on this list, but I'll Tell them, and may I Leave this flier for the lady Of the house?
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America I hear your promise
That if your wife were here,
She'd talk my ear off,

I hear your "No thank you," your
"We're pretty sure what we're doing," your "I'm praying on it; it is
an awful time."

I hear you promise to vote for my person,
wearing your apron, cookie-baking smells rushing into the cold
And the high-af
Saturday workingman
Promise the same from
behind false teeth with grimy edges.

I hear your slamming door, your
Parents shouting, your
Child asking who I am
And whether I've brought anything
Exciting.

I hear there is nothing I can tell you,
Undecided means self-reliant,
Which means suspicious
Of a door-to-door citizen,
Salesman,
Citizen with a script,
Who you are sure must have a script.

America, I don't know how
You got on this list, but I'll
Tell them, and may I
Leave this flier for the lady
Of the house?
America, I think your kid
Voted for Bernie, is how
You wound up on my list.
Did you know?

Thank you for your support,
For coming to the door with soapy hands,
For your daughter's phone-banking,
For offering me a bathroom
And holding back the dog.

America, you're probably right when you say
That no one knows shit, and my
Candidate has a chance in hell (whatever that means).
America, I don't agree that Clinton
Has murdered a lot of people
In quite the sense you mean,
But can we maybe talk
About the House race?

America, I did see your sign
Promising an armed response,
But I heard you singing.
And came up your driveway anyway.
I hoped you were joking,
Though I thought it was a bad joke,
Most of all in this time,
And I wondered whether
I could answer any questions,
Any at all.

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