Floating Voter

Is there a haven in the gathering storm,
a place for one whose course is not yet set,
a way to interrupt the flow, break in
to private conversations, stem the tide
of endless chatter, dam up the stream of
vacuous patter, quench the pointless waffle.

First caught in the ebb and flow of reason,
then swirled in a maelstrom of opinion,
I ride the storm and head for calm waters
where, steering clear of those tedious tongues,
I find anchorage. With feet on firm ground
there is the space and time to think things out.
‘It’s only politics,’ you say. But now
I can plan my own course, set my own sail.