An Ode to Democracy, Anyone?

Something that occured to me last election -- I'd like to someone write a poem during their moment of democracy -- a poem from inside the election booth. I know it seems silly, but despite all the media chatter about "Canada's decision," the reality is that we as individuals have next to no power in government. It is only en masse, and only in the brief moments inside the voting booth, that we have any power at all. So I'd like someone to write about that moment, about that tiny smidgen of power and influence we hold while marking our X. I would do it, but I don't have any poetic talent, and think the elections officials would probably become suspicious if I spend an hour inside the booth, only poking my head out occasionally to yell "Anyone know a rhyme for "constitutional monarchy?"

Another, brief thought. I don't have the constitution for either sports or politics. If I let them, either could sweep me up in a tide of popular emotion and carry me away. I watched the Rose Bowl (a big American football game) over the Christmas Break, and at one point during the dying minutes, I realized all my muscles were tensed. Similarly, I woke up this morning with a knot in the pit of my stomach*, a direct reflection of the knowledge that thousands of politicians and their aides are all nervously awaiting the results of today -- results which could see them in triumph, or in another career. My reaction to the stress of sports watching is simply to leave the room (usually when the team I'm silently rooting for is losing), but I have no such recourse in politics. Instead, I take refuge in feeble excuses: "It doesn't really matter who wins -- our country won't change that much. Really." Unfortunately, I can't leave the country if my political party loses the game, so I'll just have to learn how to be a better (and less emotionally involved) fan.

[* - although, in a much less romantic explanation, the knot could just be because after a weekend of three games of innertube waterpolo, two of rugby basketball and four of broomball, my stomach muscles are howling in protest.]