12-23-24: Role Call
President (ˈpre-zə-ˌdent). n.
:the presiding officer of a governmental body
T.T. is a silent type of man.
One who walks with a confident stride but takes joy in the mundane.
White. Balding. Around 65. A widower by the looks of his Facebook page.
Adjusting the collar on his blue plaid shirt, he moves swiftly through the agenda, taking rightful control of the meeting that lasts all of 17 minutes.
Pro Tempore (prō-ˈtem-pə-rē). n.
:a council member who presides over meetings in the absence of the council president.
C.G.
45 and newly married.
He asks the council to approve his resignation.
The members glance to the thick, silver band that freshly adorns his white left ring finger; they have all been prepared for this request prior to tonight.
Smiling softly , muttering cordalties, they move on with the agenda items; he is obligated to serve one more council meeting, one that will likely have cake and a lot more tears.
Mayor (ˈmā-ər). n.
:an official elected or appointed to act as chief executive or nominal head of a city
J.S. – white, late 70s – sits in the furthermost corner of the room, silently observing the speedy exchanges between the members.
He congratulates C.G. Informs the council that City Hall is closed for the holidays.
Returns to his silent state.
Council Member (ˈmem-bər). n.
:elected official responsible for making decisions on behalf of the local government
A.G. is white, gentle, kind, jovial, the youngest, having only been elected in 2022.
T.W. looks to be the oldest as a white man in his late 70s. J.S. might have a few years on him.
S.L. is the only woman and person of color. She welcomes a young, african-american boy to sit in the seat next to her so he can recite the pledge of allegiance. Pride radiates from her tired eyes.
Citizen (ˈsi-tə-zən). n.
:an inhabitant of a city or town
Then there’s me: reporter, poet, citizen. There are others: a man who dresses like the 1920s was yesterday, a woman juggling four children, the chief of police who is dealing patiently with me tonight, and a large man who incessantly jingles coins in his pocket. But I am the only one with a notepad and pen, jotting down what streets will be closed, what grants the city is applying for, and quips about random people that serve as inspiration for my poem I’ll craft later tonight.