Enter the town hall, for it’s voting day

Noises echo around its high empty ceilings

People talking about

Manifestos heard the day before

My polling card safely in hand,

Into the cubicle I’m directed

The pen hangs from a drawing pin, awkwardly stuck into the wall, the string a little frayed….

The smell of sweat in the air

many people have been today

With the pen I cross the box

The candidate has one more vote

Carefully folding the voting slip

It is placed inside,

the safety of the black ballot box