Polls - Again

Deus, in adjutorium meum intende.  Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina.
O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me.

   I think I'll start my blog today, as I do before reading the Psalms from the Divine Office, with the prayer I noted yesterday. I need prayers in everything I do. We all do.  However, I'm taking a break from Lenten thoughts; since the political scene just keeps intruding.

   Looking over my bookshelves, as I do every day, I decided to pull out Edwin Newman's I Must Say, again.  After covering polls in this blog twice before, I didn't intend to quote more. Well, Newman has a poem about exit poll -ers.  I love his wit, his insight into all things language, the news, - well, you get it. I like Edwin Newman.

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THE RIME OF THE EXIT POLLER

It was an exit poller,
Who stopp-ed one of three.
"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The polling place is open wide
And I am here to vote.
The hour is late, the issues great,
Your hand, please, off my coat."

He held him with a skinny hand,
"There was a vote," quoth he.
"Hold off! Unhand me, gray-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He held him with his glittering eye -
The citizen stood still,
And listened like a three years' child;
The poller had his will.

The citizen stood in the street,
A few yards from his goal.
his fate was sealed.
He was to be a digit in a poll.

"Now tell me, sir, your age and wealth,"
The exit poller said.
"Your economic status, please,
And whether you are wed."
The citizen now cleared his throat.
He faced the poller dour.
"I don't know what to say," he said.
"Just put me down, 'Not sure.' "

The poller looked a mite cast down.
His spirits seemed to droop.
He straightened up and tried again:
"What is your ethnic group?"

"I do not cast an ethnic vote,"
The citizen replied.
"My preference is not to be
So glibly classified."

"Well, what about the issues, then?"
The poller asked, a grim look in his eyes,
'"Which issues mean the most to you?
In short, prioritize."

Once more the citizen drew back,
As if to pull away.'"I've got to go, I've much to do,
On this election day."

"I see your point," the poller said,
Then struck a kindly note:
"Just one last query, if I may;
For which one did you vote?"

" 'For which one did I vote?' you ask.
Dear Lord with me abide:
You've kept me from the voting booth.
I've not yet been inside."

The poller cried out in his pain;
He sobbed and moaned, "Not true!
With voters, voters, everywhere,
I have no interview."

His hair askew, his cheeks tearstained,
He fell and rent his hair.
Then, of a sudden, rose once more
And kissed his questionnaire.

The poller, though aghast at first,
Had found a newer role.
"A breakthrough here," exulted he,
"I've done an entry poll."

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In all of my 59 years of voting. I have never been stopped for an exit poll. I've never SEEN anyone stopped for an exit poll. Yet, in each election we hear time and time again about what to expect due to exit polling. I must frequent the wrong polling places.