Treasure Island

RIC S. BASTASA


Ephemeral


A red hibiscus that blooms
In the morning
Closes, wilts, in the afternoon,
You expect another one of its kind tomorrow,
A china rose,
Your night life,
At the outdoor café, sitting on light fabricated
Silver chairs, sipping tea, puffing smoke, sipping
Margarita, gazing
Slight stolen looks
At young handsome
Men rated per hour,
It is your policy of giving false names and wrong address,
They know
What you are doing,
They understand
Your needs & wants
For a fleeting night
A cure for an itch

Momentary piecemeal pleasures,
Allusions about a broken love of what used to be,
Illusions of what you could have been,

Momentary
Thoughts, momentary projections, when you make love with your catch, as you puff your smoke to
Confuse the ceiling with your gaze of momentary
Emptiness,
You are the first one
To leave, after paying the bills,
They always pretend asleep,
While naked,
As you leave his due on the side table,
You go home on shriveled hair,
Driving a red car,
Smokeless to the road,
Your celfon rings,
Your son in his father’s house calls
“Mommy, I want to go home”
“I am driving, ’ you call him,
A flash of momentary happiness,
A momentary sadness,
Flip-flopping to your mind,
What are these really, these that meet your gaze for something that should have been permanent,


That red hibiscus, that blooms only for a day,
Is ephemeral,
Like stolen nights,
Like the way your child calls you, because father is always away,
“I am in Cebu for a week”, said many times over and over again,

Her stint for a night is ephemeral,
Electronic calls are ephemeral,
A happy home, her dream, was sort of, kinda like red hibiscus
Ephemeral too.

Submitted: Saturday, January 05, 2008
Edited: Saturday, June 25, 2011

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