Marking Territories That No Longer Belong To Us.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

my nephew
who is as brusque as
he had been known
cruel to the women
whom he tasted and junked
once asked me
if i am my poetry and i
instantly told him that
it is nothing
but justa scribbling to
pass the hours away
hours which sit heavily on
my shoulders while i try
to play Atlas to our
two worlds

it was an easy answer and
as an idol of his
he believes me without
question

between us is this uneasiness
that somehow in some aspects
we both learned to lie


he lied many times and i have
forgiven him and he lied some more
until such time that he himself
no longer matters and i too to him
do not matter

and we meet like some breaths
on cold nights where we see ghosts
coming from our mouths and noses
and we sit there waiting for nothing
feeling like some kind of monuments of
stones marking territories that
no longer belong to us.