How Should It Be? Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is nice to say that twilight dances
and the morning is preoccupied with coffee and cups
hotcakes on the plate
and lawn mower still asleep.

lightning scratches a field, i see it.
waves move to and fro endlessly
signifying infinity.

thoughts are all possibilities until you realize
that the hot choco is cold
and not minded
it knows how is it to be untended, it dies
into a bland taste.

blind moments are there, i pick up a magazine and simply
look at the pictures of women
skimpy dresses and sexually stimulating ads
of softdrinks.

things move by themselves
and now i declare no war, no pact of peace, nothing.

i am numb.
and selfish.