After the Count

They count the votes.
They read out your name.
Hands shake.
Cameras flash.
Everyone smiles
like the hard part is over.

It isn’t.

The hard part is the bus
that still doesn’t come.
The letter someone can’t understand.
The person trying to speak
while somebody else
finishes their sentence for them.

Don’t call us brave
for getting over a barrier
you could have moved.

Don’t praise us for having a voice
then call us difficult
when we use it.

And Issa—
I stand by the principles you spoke for.
I may not agree with every view.
I don’t have to.
Agreement isn’t the price
of being heard.

If a poem only gets to speak
when everyone agrees,
it’s decoration.

So yes, celebrate the count.
You earned that moment.
But the count is not a blank cheque.
It is people saying:
we trust you with this—
now show us what you do with it.

When the cameras have gone,
when the room has emptied,
and someone is still waiting
for an answer—

remember:
we chose you to do this work.
Don’t let us down.
You’ll be asking for our votes again.