Clique Poem by RIC BASTASA

clique
like a camera's snappy sound
you get a face on paper
you remember
pain.

clique
you hear the sound of clapping hands
exhorting the fame within your circle.

each to his name, his bias, and prejudice.
the bold line is drawn.

outside, they move around their circles too.
they're not sad.

those excluded, too, know how to find
themselves
they have their own feet and hands
their sticks
and carrots too,
to munch
in accordance with their own kind
the way how their teeth
are designed
their mouths spouting invectives
against those
not towing the line

'we have our guidelines' the ugliest of them all say that.


i, too, draw a circle of my existence.

in keeping myself in
i keep them out too.

there i take my own bed and pillow
and blanket.

to have a nice sleep alone.