His Charity. Poem by RIC BASTASA

the japanese was short with long black hair.
he carried only one sporty bag and sits there silently.
he did not talk.

at 12: 30 in the evening the loneliness crept in like a rat in the sink
smelling left over.

we sat side by side. And then he started talking.

i learned much from him. His charity. His tolerance for troublesome women. His way of telling that his home in Japan is very peaceful but
equated it with intolerable boredom. He bought a house in Argao.
A beachfront.

He is a widower. He supports scholars in Surabaya and Surigao.
And they quarrel over his generosity.

When we arrived in Manila he kept his silence again.
Perhaps, his only treasure now.

I gave the sign that we are now home and we must part ways.
I keep a treasure now. His charity.