Gabriel Balente Garcia - One Poem

The Patron Saint of Lost Illusions

If I could exist on the sustenance of longing

I would. If I could regard the dystopia of lacking

With a mere bourgeois, cocktail-party whimsy,

perhaps the pang of social isolation could sew up

an altogether fancier suit of acquiescence. Perhaps

I could rationalize our subtle subservience to

A coffin-lidded class system. Perhaps I might get a

“real” job. But why? For when the Arctic fox changes

seasons it simply changes its fur. And a collection

of furs hangs lovelier in a closet of skeletons. But

I’ve made a career of poverty, haven’t I? I have

romanticized it to such stylish grandeur that I

cannot help but fictionalize it, make it more wear-

able for those who cannot bear the ugliness of it.

I have made it cinematic. I have dressed it in the most

thematic costumes that even Edith Head would plotz.

I’ve washed it in the most forgiving light that even Saint Joan

Crawford in Mildred Pierce might blush. I have reduced it

to such Dickensian terms that even the extras—those lower

registers—enjoy playing the décor. I’ve shot it through a

rose-tinted lens, but the fabric is synthetic—man-made—

and cannot help itself wear thin. 

Gabriel Balente Garcia is a writer of poetry, short fiction and short plays, as well a photographer and painter in New York City. Under the name Gabriel Garcia his work has appeared in the zine entitled Vice and, under the nom de plume, Gabriel "G" Garcia, his work has appeared in Burning Word, Willows Wept Review, Creations Magazine, Danse Macabre du Jour, and is forthcoming in Crosstimbers.