"Bachelor," a poem


For P.D.

Somewhere on the desk,
between the computer, the sketchbooks, the coffee,
lies the telephone.

The floor is a mess.
Containers of take-out Chinese,
junk mail, old bills.
Tempting to sift through a miniature hill
and find that old men’s magazine,
the one with that “Keeping a Scorecard” article.

But then the phone rings.
Knowing who it is,
the eyes look up, quickly.
Not unlike those mornings in Catholic school,
Where, once buried in a book,
All of a sudden ready to pray.

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1 Comment

  1. The last two lines struck me somehow about the nature of people who are born religious and those who truly devote themselves to religious practices. I like the imagery of the passing of time when there’s a pile of junk all over the place after a hard day’s work and it needs to be cleaned up ASAP.

    I can sense a tone of boredom to the routine lifestyle, living in solitary confinement, err… contentment or discontentment or both. Being surrounded by an accumulation of objects that the only thing that seems alive is the phone that rings.

    It not only needs to be answered but may actually answer whatever it is that you want depending on your situation. It’s what you look forward to ’cause at least after having little to no human interaction for many long hours, you’re awoken to the sound of life coming from the other end. I dunno, I just thought I’d comment on those bits. Nice job though! ^_^

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