Honestly Speaking My Dear Poem by RIC BASTASA

you have a sharp knife with you
so i will keep a little distance

poor innocent onions, lousy green tomatoes,
foul garlic chopped into microscopic
pieces, and a frying pan overheated like a bull
fuming with smoke from the oil

what is that temperature honey?
oh, you are angry again to the world
of work, you are bored to the law
of routine, you are at it again in your
atlantic ocean of sighs and mysterious
turbulent ways, surge and upsurge.

I do not ask for reasons.
I let you boil up like water inside
that kettle that sings the songs
of madness, a warning that all
must shut up or be stabbed with
your unexplainable silence.

nothing sunny side up, everything
hard boiled with the black soot of
sulfur settling at the bottom of the egg.

honestly speaking, i do not mind at all.
it is at the time when you are so angry
that you become so silent,
and i like it that way. I can think some more.

Deeper and probing. Perhaps, i shall
soon find the answer in the hot oil overheated
inside that frying pan.
No one wants to be fried alive,
you know that well enough.