The Spectator.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

everyday the fathers escort their kids to school in this place where i live
fronting my house where the kindergarten school is built

the fathers talk a lot while waiting and i am listening as the distance is
just near the window where i sit and observe where i keep on writing a lot of
stories and whatever is coming inside my brain...

the talk travels on their orbits in circular fashion without a specific direction
just passing the hours consuming every minute while waiting

then the bell rings and the kids go out from their rooms rushing to the arms of
their fathers who pick them up and put them on their seats on the motorcycle

it is 12 noon

the motorcycles one by one leaves the place and proceeds to their houses
this happens every day except during Saturdays and Sundays where the place
is so silent and empty except for the rustle of some leaves that fall from
the mahogany trees on windy days

which is not always

i am faithful to this scenery.
i am the spectator watching the fullness and emptiness of some days

figuring out
relevance.