Eve of Election

It’s the eve of the election

 I’m at home and there’s a fire in the hearth

I live where we all wind up eventually—

Taking the road north out of Los Angeles

Drive forever then turn right

Hide out in the mountains

Of northern California and wait for the apocalypse

 The Sierras Nevadas have a politics

All its own—you can’t stay

True to anyone one cause here

Sooner or later there’s a mountain lion

Eating your cat or a deer on your fender

And you forget you’re a pacifist

You grow a garden and give half to your gun totting neighbor

Or you give some 14 year old a drive to Planned Parenthood

90 miles and 5 churches away

 It’s the eve of the election

But I voted weeks ago

Stuck a few hopes and misses

in the mail and two stamps this time

and I prayed my paranoid tendencies

Didn’t over take me

Did it reach the office?
Did they throw it in the trash?

I gave up voting in person

When they went to the machines

Without a trace of paper

Without a way to know

Without a way to not be cynical and stolen

 So I mail in the lesser of two evils

Under cover of sleep and dream

And I wait for things to turn out like me

But they never do

You don’t want me to vote for you

You’ll lose every time

 I’ve never had to stand in one of those

Breadlines for voting

of desperation

Of defiance

I’ve never voted on a Sunday after church

No one ever had to drive me to the polls

I do my part with the elderly though

Keep my grandmother off of Fox News

 My world doesn’t look like Florida

I’m not Ohio or Colorado 

 I’m from the touch down

Make the check payable to

Golden coin state of California

 Where we usually live and let live

Where we pass laws about

Just about everything and we

Complain mightily about it

But hey with all these people

We still have cleaner air than Texas

We are still one of the top ten economies

Of the world right? Right?

I almost feel sorry for my neighbors

Here in God’s country—

This state will never go Red.

When did Republicans go Red?

Wasn’t red a communist color?

But we don’t know what that word means anyways

 I want to feel something about the election

I want it to be more than a Facebook cartoon

I want it to be about my America—

 The one without pasty old white men in my uterus

The one that doesn’t care about race

The one that doesn’t believe its own myths

The America I know Is totally gay

The America I know it has lesbian mothers

The America I know

Has Mexican Grandfathers who make dinner

Shirtless in their boxers and dress shoes

It has Grandmothers from the Bronx who

Teach you how to play cards and swear like sailors

It has Mexican husbands that grew up on KROQ and Morrissey

It has uncles who are illegal

It has white aunts with student loans bigger than houses

My America doesn’t have southern BBQ or Iowa corn or Idaho potatoes

I have a cell phone and a bad attitude and no TV

No one polled me in this election

 Do I even have a demographic?

 What do you call a Mexican woman from Los Angeles

hiding out in a forest with her family

the over educated product of lesbian mothers

and a dad that saw too much of the sixties

with two kids a dog and debt?

What am I America?

Where am I on your red and blue map?

On election eve.

I visualize that mail-in ballot

And all the good propositions passing

And all the bad ones going by the way side

And all the evil people disappearing

And all the good people surviving 

Amen Amen Amen




About Margaret Elysia Garcia

Margaret Elysia Garcia is the author of short story ebook collection Sad Girls and Other Stories, and the audiobook Mary of the Chance Encounters, and the co-founder and lead playwright of Las Pachucas, theatrical troupe. She teaches creative writing and theatre in a California state prison.
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