Wewahootee Road
Spirits of Native American warriors run on the hidden trail.
I was out chasing Democrats who Vote By Mail.
Dark was falling; the road ahead unclear.
The sign on the side of the road said I had a lot to fear.
“You’re on your own beyond this boundary.”
That was the warning from Orange County.
I steered slowly around potholes bigger than my Civic.
To some less committed, I might look heroic.
If I go missing, my F.O., Bryan, knows the plan.
Point the searchers to the last turf I cut on VAN.
Re-entering paved roadway and seeing homes clustered,
I searched for my targets, trying not to feel flustered.
Voter Guides, cards for Charlie and George at the ready,
Checking my map, I kept my hands on the wheel steady.
Reading house numbers in the dark strains my sight,
But I struggle on with the help of an occasional light.
One strong supporter brightens my night.
She’s fired up and ready to join our fight.
Heading for home, I hear ghost warriors chanting of the beauty
That once graced the hidden trail named Wewahootee.
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