The Candidate

	Inside the lonely building sits the candidate
	His speech is typed and ready, the hundred dollar plates
	Sit on deserted tables beneath fluorescent light
	But no one comes to hear him; no cheers disturb the night
	So where are all the voters?
	Where the voters' wives?
	They've all gone to the movies, trying to understand their lives
	The candidate is slipping into some dream of old
	Not noticing around him, a thousand rubber chickens going cold.