I have every material wealth conceivable-
A mansion in the hill, fatuous women;
A fleet of cars, fat contracts;
Cupboard brimming, fat belly;
Mile-long bankbooks, fat arthritis;
I crave for more and more and more,
Except that I don’t crave for god anymore-
My god is a small god, if anything at all.
Elmer Sayre writes from Initao, Misamis Oriental.
Early morning when you left without saying goodbye
Frantic about meeting a schedule or so
You should have wakened me up
To cook omelet for you and pack your lunch
For the long trip to meet your schedules
Wiping the early morning sweat from your brow
As you go.
But the schedule has to come first
Early as early can be
You may have prodded the pedal to the floor
Squeezing the last gasoline drop
One hundred twenty measures to the hour.
Later at night I could no longer expect
Your light kiss as you arrive
From meeting your schedule or so
Your cold body arriving
In a hearse of the funeral parlor
In Bacolod we hired to pry
The crumpled car open.
Elmer Sayre is a Dipolognon now living in Initao, Misamis Oriental, as a gentleman farmer and a free-lance social development consultant.