The time is 8 o’clock am and Amy Klobucher
is the first one sitting in a booth at the restaurant. 
She is waiting for you.
The plan is not to meet until noon
for lunch.

But, Amy imagines you coming in at 11:55 am
and she is already there, coffee in hand,
one sugar, one cream,
because only weirdos drink it black all morning.

She imagines you coming in at 12:05
apologizing and asking, “Have you been waiting long?”
And she’ll say, “No, not long. Not long at all.”
She is ready.

She waits to chat with you, dear voter.
Her knuckles are red and her bag is filled with chocolate
and other small gifts, like art supplies.
Only Lil Mikey gives money.

She is more practical. Her sense is most common.
You could ask any salt of the earth on the sidewalk,
and they would say their sense is the same.
They would say most everyone likes chocolate.

Her smile is unwavering.
She is filled with Girl Power
and visions of the Twitter misogynists
fleeing into the hills of 12-chan as she is nominated.

She waits to comfort you
to tell you that everything will be alright.
An adult will be back in the room. Everything will be back to normal.
You won’t have to think about politics anymore.

She will think for you, dear voter.
She will keep all the wheels turning slow and even,
the definition of a “Klobucharge.”
She is ready to count on you.

Will she see you there?