Yours Is Too Crude

i felt the surface
yours is crude, too superficial

but i do not mind
i keep touching it and slide

my hands around
the edges of your thing

and then i reflect upon
what i have been doing

yes, yours is more like mine
crude, superficial

straightforward, and
flowing

soft like sky blue linens
and cheap for the mindless public

but we continue doing it
day by day

truly, sincerely, and
therapeutically

what we do
does not kill us anyway

in any way
we have found expression

in words
and pity (and love perhaps?)

yet look at us
we do not appear as beggars

wearing dark glasses
and holding a tin can on our hands

we are here
to speak but i guess

we never beg
for ears

we have legs to stand
throughout this agony

and then the children
come around us

wondering if we are humans
confused if they too shall be like us

everyday we keep repeating
what we are

and then the world knows
but keeps on spinning

the morning light still lands
on the lines of our open palms

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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