For Zonasha

Young woman in cheap make up and pointed heels
Clinging to the arms of the white fat man
Passing without looking the Glassy eyed elderly woman
Asking for alms in the Sidewalks marked
With a politician’s initials
To remind us, without them, who would build the roads?

A traffic enforcer congesting the traffic
Standing in the middle of the road
Because he can, laughing about something—
Always laughing about something
The honks of shoe less drivers are powerless

Young people in their flamboyant
Fashion sense and irksome language
You can even hear young girls say
“Putang inang yan!” not to show
Defiance or retaliation to a system,
But because that’s what they hear everybody say

As a punctuation mark of their sentences

Men neatly dressed; I.D.s noosed to their neck,
Neckties knotted tight, already choking their existence
All seem to be doing something important
Until you hear what they talk about: whores in tight short skirts

And I at the eye of all these, not looking
So different from them I am now looking at this
Young woman standing beside me
Not because she wore a tight short skirt
But because she’s reading a Bulgakov
While holding my right arm, waiting for a jeep
Looking the sanest and I wonder
Are you dying to get home too,

And be far from this circus?




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