I work a graveyard shift,
a hundred and fifty a day
excluding my jeepney fare;
often walk when I'm broke.
I spend fifty for my honey,
buy her small size soda
and a sausage in a bun.
And I spend for her rides.
Someday I will be richer
and marry her in France;
book in spas and sleep
on a waterbed at night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
to dream of better things. for what else is there - when all seems mundane, morose, and lost...