Jeepney Poem by Wilson Khor W.H.

I don't know where to go
or even where to stop
in these crazy streets of Manila.

But I know I'd like to sit
at the back close to the driver
as people come and go
in all uniforms and makeup,
feeling the warmth
from smooth and rugged fingers,
the metallic coldness
of pesos being passed
from one palm to another

As I imagine the untold stories
in the creases on their expressions
in between my "bayad po",
"para po",
and "salamat po".