A column of buttons; strange
pictograms, out of a book of parables;
a lotus here, a hand there; even a broom
names unknown; attached to these
pictures.
The gentle motion of my finger in a downward fashion
is important, they tell me; it will
reduce pollution; it will
stop starvation; it will
end corruption; it will
change the nation.
Will it?
The weight of a billion souls rests
on this one button press.
The ups and downs of my prosperity,
and that of my neighbour’s, and of
the vegetable-vendor, down the street
who always ignores the few extra grams
I pile on to save a buck;
They all rest on this one decision
I cannot take it, I know far too less;
I am not qualified, I must confess
What good my shot in the dark, if
the bullet hits my country in the head?