Jolography

Paolo Manalo, (University of the Philippines Press, 2003)

O, how dead you child are, whose spoiled
Sportedness is being fashion showed

Beautifuling as we speak -- in Cubao
There is that same look: Your Crossing Ibabaw,

Your Nepa Cute, Wednesdays
Baclaran, "Please pass. Kindly ride on."

Tonight will be us tomorrowed-
Lovers of the Happy Meal and its H,

Who dream of the importedness of sex as long as it's
Pirated and under a hundred, who can smell

A Pasig Raver in a dance club. O, the toilet
Won't flush, but we are moved, doing the gerby

In a plastic bag; we want to feel the grooves
Of the records, we want to hear some scratch-

In a breakaway movement, we're the shake
To the motive of pockets, to the max.

The change is all in the first jeep
Of the morning's route. Rerouting

This city and its heart attacks; one minute faster
Than four o'clock, and the next

Wave that stands out in the outdoor crowd
hanging with a bunch of yo-yos-

A face with an inverted cap on, wearing all
Smiles the smell of foot stuck between the teeth.