• Chairs Speak to Chairs

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    “AB Lit? Ano yan? (then dirty finger).”
    — from an FB Meme

    Brethren, we are the chairs
    on which they spent time with books,
    booze and boos—bickering on writers

    and their maladies, while the rest
    of the citizens were glued to your lucky arms—
    watching telenovelas. We are the chairs,

    we are the rugged chairs unto heavy
    opinions were downcast. There was no time,
    no time for us to interject nor object

    to the useless appendage of their speech.
    Tigsik and other metaphors do not sit
    on us well ever since the priests

    were washed ashore and the trees
    were butchered for industry and political seat.
    So Legazpi went to Manila rather than Legazpi,

    and so what? The carpenter’s nail is God
    and destined us for this shit. Pardon
    our impeccable French for we’d rather kiss

    the fertile loam with roots and twigs.
    Or we’d rather be the seat of romance
    or of cunnilingus and other types of tweaks

    to buttons that make them weep.
    But there we were, your severed brethren,
    smelling second-hand smoke and twits

    on whether or not this weather of summer rain
    should be proud, be proud, give accolade and sweets
    for this wordster who utters pained paeans for violated
    youth, for sodomized innocence, while molesting
    his pupils with his conduct and speech. We are the chairs,
    we are the chairs on which they spent time,

    they spent time, when time we could not make.
    As the rest of the citizens were glued
    to your lucky arms without care on their teeth.

    (for the Bayaw poets of Sta. Cruz)

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