When autumn leaves the US like Ted Kennedy

The polling places are not that crowded,
the crisp, cool air blows on the envelope
of the sealed ballots.
The first three seasons of the year shed their memories,
soon winter will be
king and there will be no coronation.
Mother Nature has other plans as a tempest,
gather the dry leaves and circle them
into a crown, fit for the coming king.
Macy’s is on parade, the balloons look forward
to the charade of handlers and toddlers
with oohs and ahhs on their faces.
The polling places are now closing. The band,
the dead Kennedy’s, have packed up and left,
along with the lion of winter.