Election Year Ghazal

When my folks decided to call it quits,
two ballots cast, I didn’t get a vote.

Did I want to be a dad at 22?
Her hard decision overwhelmed my vote.

On the phone, when she finally called it quits,
her mind wouldn’t change by 100 votes.

Live in the US and stay working poor,
or try elsewhere in the world? Easy vote.

My sons are adults; my arrears are paid; 
my life is mine. I can again devote

myself to artistic development. 
Before, a paycheck was the only vote.

Abroad. I watch the US slide into 
disarray; I ready my absentee vote.

If you want the government to change, son,
you need to be counted: cast your vote.

Dad, you left us in a broken system. 
We’re fucked. What does it matter if we vote?