A. G. Bawang

I watch a tiny auburn ant
Make its way into my shoulders
Like some cocky rookie mountaineer
Hungry for an adventure
...

It is a very urgent radiating itch
Somewhere at the right of my back
Reached finally by my finger’s tacks
...

No being on this soil discerns my soul
Besides the one whose visage fits, now rests
Sashaying on my palms. She sees my roles
And highlights my distinctions during tests
...

you squeeze my cheeks
like you do your bath time sponge
you grab my hair for dearest life
as I shake my head in protest
...

touchdown!
homerun!
hole in one!
...

I heard of you
From mouths that have tasted crème brulee
and from tongues that have endured caviar
They have often argued whether
...

...

the green sterile room
violently opens
with the masked posse
shoving, kicking, swearing
...

Each step of your big steel toed foot
used to sound like an angry hammer at midnight.
Last night and tonight,
they were mute.
...

Sir,

They asked me
...

We
naively
squander
our
...

appetite
is
what
fuels
...

The pen thought it romantic to be sliding
At the back of this fast food receipt
As the rains gush like green ink
...

The water from the ancient plastic pipes
Gushed furiously like that minor water fall
I discovered when I took a side trek
On the second day of the Banaue tour
...

A cave is dug and is seeded

Someone comes out of it greeting
The obtrusive light with intense wailing
...

...

My name is never
Totally me

Sometimes it’s them
...

Today, you fall softly
On the multi-colored play mat.
You then gently push the guitar’s funny shadow
While your cousins dance erratically with the curtains
...

this
old
gui
tar
...

The dance of the pine needles is the first to come
Followed naturally by a flock of birds whose names
Escape him now but whose songs are incessantly in his ears
And whose paths he followed for three summers
...