I Am Tired Of The Usual Agony
tell me another story
the one which you cannot tell inside a motel
where you hold a cigarette
on one hand and a bottle of gin on the other
do not attempt on another
one that begins with
once upon a time
for sure i don't like it and i won't like you beginning
such a kind of trash
to tickle my dead senses
ooops, tell me not a story about pity
and sympathy, the one that you always tell to your
bed partner when the storms come
and in the middle of its harshness
you have nowhere to go nothing to do except
spend your time wisely in another hotel
with a partner
whose name you never bother to ask
or remember
as there is no significance
do not tell me about agonies
i had them all and will have them soon again
or sooner than soonest
they always come to a person like me
do not describe to me the agony of death
or torture or broken hearts
or crashing economies or incoming wars
between this government and the rebels
and soldiers on a coup against their
fellow soldiers at the military academy.
do not tell me that, now that we are here
inside this room where our clothes and faces
do not really matter
except our bodies emerging from a hot shower
where every moment counts
as escape from other agonies
that we have mastered
do not tell me about the agony of our times
high prices of gas and still rising
the possibilities of retrenchment
and closing of some companies
the possibility of this government getting
bankrupt
and the working people on mass strikes
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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