Letter from Kitty Dukakis: Between the Election and the Breakdown

They called it a landslide as though 
everything shifted and the weak 
and strong alike were buried alive.
Not true. We simply came home.
Mike mows the grass and when he wheels it
into the garage, laughs. Probably
thinking of that goddamn tank.

 I don’t forget any of the faces.
Wet palms, bad breath, large mouths. 
We didn’t work the crowds so much
as they worked us. Mike would say
“this is the real America.” 
Mike’s always been the sincere type.