The Pieces Of Self.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

everyday i see myself
first as the wholeness of the egg

its whiteness ignored
cracked by the fork and
scrambled and fried

those pearls of white rice
cooked and handed over
on white porcelain plates

breakfast is not strange
otherwise if i ask, i will be

strange to all that is expected
to be familiar

in the bathroom i turn on the light
and see the miniature of sun
after the pee and the poo i feel
the softness of tissue and the
cleansing of water

flushing is such a relieving sound
and everything is in order now

the brushing begins and the
mirroring and the parting of hair

the shower gives some songs
life is cool after all and then one

gets used to the usual grooming
putting on socks fitting on belts and

shoes and buttoning shirts and
zippering

one gets outside finally and see the
real world feel the real air and hear
the real sounds of the traffic

one who reads this finds nothing
spectacular

after all
what is spectacular about routine?

and life is just one of those
routines in all your pieces of self
that you scatter all over the office,
the streets, the house
the room

and in all places of the heart and
spleen.