The Collaterals Poem by RIC BASTASA

the collateral and
peripheries of this world
play truant

like a child on the beach
gets a stick and begins to
scribble whatever
thoughts come to his
mind

the woman sitting under
the coconut tree does not
see how silly it is
how meaningless

she is the mother
what she thinks is only love
of her flesh
and bone of her bone

in my stroll alone early morning
i also understand
once a child once i had
that mother.