Based on certain of yesterday’s events, although coincidentally not the Iowa caucus

I met a traveler from an ancient time.
Translation was tricky, far from her home
But we bonded over meter and rhyme
As she recited some forgotten poem.

She paged through an anthology I found.
We spoke of lines, and where a line should break.
We spoke of how a poem should look or sound;
What was a good start, what was a mistake.

She knew some odes to gems; pearl or obsidian,
That glittered, or had glittered in the past.
She read about ongoings more quotidian
From my peers. Well, her era couldn’t last.

“Did you–” I tried to say, “know more of truth?”
She left. I hid within a voting booth.


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