There are far and few women who'd consider doing this: standing far from a ballot, I rest my decision on one man -- who is not considered a candidate to win. My heart steady beats as the line diminishes; each person going up to drop their card and then leaving -- sometimes with a child or spouse. There, I stood looking at the empty hole where my card would be lost forever to me but count forever on a textbook. What am I doing? How am I going to stop? I reach my hand forth and drop; it sails down into the deep abyss of note cards, filled with illegible writing -- besides mine that speaks in big, bold words: Ronald W. Sharts.