On A White Bench

at the plaza of this town
fronting the cafe
where i am now writing this poem

i see a white cemented bench
beside a mahogany tree
three men are sitting
they are talking
and i cannot hear them
i am walled
by this glass wall

one wears a white cap
holding a radio
blue faded jeans
and rubber shoes

the second one
a brown subanen native
wearing a white shirt
with a political ads
to vote for mayor dong

the third one
already left before i finished this poem

i could have described him
but i fell short of time and sensitivity

i ask someone beside me
what these three men are up to

they are waiting
they are looking for a job on this hard times
when the price of rice has gone high
together with the gas

i know you want something more than this kind of write
did i keep you waiting too?

tell me did i keep you waiting too for something that you want me to tell you?
i have nothing to tell you

how does it feel to wait, hours perhaps, for something that does not come/
how does it feel to wait

for nothing? tell me, tell me, if you understand now, how is it to sit on a white
bench beside a mahogany tree, in the plaza, in front of an internet cafe

where i write a poem
and nothing nothing really happens

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!