The Brown Out And The Brown Barking Dog - Poem by RIC S. BASTASA

yes, the last poem was saved
from a sudden brownout and yes the brown dog did not stop barking
on the road lined with pruned indian trees where a stack of leaves
are left to dry
on a very hot noon day in my poor country

until the knock on the door is heard and finally the maid opens
the door to the stranger: your brother gone abroad
for work to save money for his six children
to feed and send to school and he brings you some gifts
toblerone chocolates
and californian red wine

hugs and hugs and warmth
and some stories to tell about the united states of america
chicago in particular
and las vegas at the end where one of your cousins made a good fortune
where some invitations are extended
where you may stay for three days and enjoy the casino and the
moving lights and some parties

the brown barking dog now lays peacefully by the door with big ears
listening to a conversation between brothers: one who likes to stay
forever in one place
and one who seeks his destiny somewhere else

some snacks no smoke no lies now just stories and
missing and a promise to be good
to offer prayers for our dead parents
mass tomorrow morning and a coming party for the relatives

little joys, bitter memories, some expectations and hopes for a better future
slice the cake and sip the soup
some thoughts that better be left inside our minds
silence and in between words that like to lurk
inside the walls of our mouths

what do you really expect from me? from what i write, well,

well, sometimes, there is nothing to say, except to tell you
the brown-out is still here, and i am working on a standby power
rushing with my lines
keeping with my word

to save my last poem, and it may not be the last after all
just finishing it
for you, trying to tell you that sometimes in our lives we say nothing on
purpose but just to be descriptive about what is happening
between us
no judgments, no choosing and telling which is wrong which is right
just watching and savoring ourselves and not commenting anymore

just living together sometimes even better with each other on some distance
so when we meet
we say we miss each other: just describing and watching and telling and

yes writing
using some other powers: the standby power till it is finally exhausted and gone

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, August 10, 2008

Poem Edited: Sunday, August 10, 2008

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