S4 Poem by RIC BASTASA

now i am hearing the rushing steps
of the fish vendor
towards the market
passing by the road fronting
my blinds

a busy day,
the red ant below my feet is at it again
finding some crumbs
of cookies
under the computer table
beside the swivel chair

i always have a word
despite,
the ant wonders
why are you doing this?

the nails have no feelings
and so are the feet of the chairs

the monitor is a eunuch
the room fills itself with so much mess

rambling books
scattered papers still unread

piling folders and
dusty nooks

the light brown curtains need
badly a laundrywoman

the walls are calling for a painter
and the floors yell for a scrubbing and mopping

this is the earth of being
needing an updat a cleansing of some sort

a deluge perhaps
and what must remain must only be the essentials

a pen a piece of paper
discard the table and the chair

for man can squat
and still relate to what is bare and empty.