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Voting Booth Conversation

My African-American
young adolescent daughter,
since she was age five
needing a therapeutic home and family,
with Oppositional Disorder
and deviantly diverse neural-cognitive communication patterns,
would have voted for Donald Trump if she could.

In large part,
I suspect and fear,
because she is obsessively attracted
to what and whom she knows is bad for her.

Bad medicine.
Toxic sights and sounds and feelings.
Poisons for all sensory receptors,
Mutually oppositional reiterative disorder
perpetually trading barbs of blame and shame,
games she so loves to hate to play,
with tendencies toward bipolar disarray.

Why does she seem to prefer older
straight
blond boys?
Probably because she identifies herself as a younger
brown-skinned
curly-headed
(in several ways and means)
princess-diva-girl.

Anyway,
she helped me vote for our town’s Mayor,
and School Board,
and Propositions about borrowing money
to pay it back later
out of her real-estate and business tax investments.

What she thought would be more interesting investments
for her future,
rather than bridges,
and firetrucks,
and improved highways,
she thought more gardens would be nicer,
and more nutritional in the long run.

As for Mayor,
she told me to vote for “Donald.”

Well, honey,
bad news.
None of these candidates is a Donald.

I didn’t say Donald
I said vote for Dora.
(Did I mention her speech therapy,
and lack thereof?)

(Did I mention I’m deaf as a post
and old enough to be her Great Gay Grandfather?)
Honey,
I don’t think writing in “Dora”
would be a good idea
because she’s not one of the choices here.

Well,
just don’t vote for Donald Trump again.

Never mind about the “again,”
as if I ever had,
or would,
But,
what came between you and your love for Donald?

He is against my mental health
and my mental health right
to live in a good community
without fear of automatic
or even not-automatic
gunfire.

You’ve been reading my blog again
haven’t you?

No!
Why would I read anyone
not smart enough to write in Dora for Mayor?

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