It dawns like a day
Of impending doom:
I stand on the cracked second-floor corridor
And stare at the rusty bars
Of the three-decade-old balcony.A guttural prayer escapes my chapped lips
For I forgot the balm
(forgot to shoplift)
So I bite my dry lower lip
In supplication to a higher power.My uniform is worn down,
The collar is blackish-brown;
Mama forgot to wash it (again):
The mahjong table takes up
Her laundry hours.A footfall draws me to reality.
It was him:
A lanky boy of burnt-red skin
And a voice that sometimes squeaks
When he shouts to be fed
During basketball.Dressed in scuffed brown-leather shoes
And a half-open shirtjack,
He reeks of a citrusy scent
That costs sixty-five pesos
A bottle.He stops by my monobloc
And asks if he could copy our last assignment:
Ten multi-colored graphs in Calculus;
I say no
(I don’t know why).He shrugs and, whistling, walks away
Like everybody had in my
Four years spent in a
Tomb of things
I’d want to forget.(And so
The toga tassel is turned
From back-left
to front right)Yet will always remember.
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