Questionable Voting Practices

Heard a knock on the door at the Inn where I’d been staying,  Opened it to find Heather with Basil, fresh from school.

First we’d seen each other since I arrived.

We hugged and hugged, then Bazy  handed me a wrinkled treasure.

“I made it for you at recess today.”

The smudged paper read,”Dear Momo hi I love you.” 

That he, an active seven year old, would use even a nanosecond of recess to think of his grandmother, did my heart and knee good.

Later, while we enjoyed an afternoon treat at M.H. Bread and Butter, Basil looked at me and asked, “Are you too old to vote?”

“No, Basil, I’m the perfect age to vote.”

“Why, Momo?”

“Because I finally know everything.”

He giggled.

I smiled.

The sheepish kind.

Then laughed with him at my audacity, though for a few seconds it felt really good to say what I sometimes think, even if it’s not true.

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