Election Night ~Craig Reishus
Cartoonists are always getting things weird about women's rights. Her foot on the gas like a hand to my throat. Everything covered to the waist, it's hard to tell the beginning from the end. She gave up, the car wrestling from her hands our certain wreck. Her earliest memory is of accompanying her father inside a voting booth. Like peeking between her fingers and watching men dye eggs for the Easter sale. One of my first memories is of the courthouse pillars in Helena. Like the law demands wives carry big things of potatoes whipped over their shoulders. On onionskin paper she wrote her grocery lists. This was back when the Saturday Evening Post would announce each issue that World War III had already begun. Children, like dogs, can sense the frustration of their owners (plus when food is being prepared). Fama, the It-Girl goddess, stares from the magazine covers. A long list of utmost people, not even beginning with Jeremiah, have forever recognized the end is coming. (Medusa blazing into the head.) Think of Shell and The Fate of the Earth. The worst is always over â€“ the far, far worse: crouched up ahead behind the boulders. We tossed sticks into the Po. We watched sticks and foam disappear towards Rome. Then we climbed back in the car and looked at the map and discovered Rome was actually either Turin or Milan, depending.