Deja Vu

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

Breakfasts were usually smiles
and chicken-dancing to the tune of sizzling bacons.
But this is now the third morning
that you haven’t even done
a single step.

That motor mouth you use for guffaws
and out of tune ditties is now closed shutters.
Your brushing does not even
annoy me anymore.

Your eyes scurry
like the native piglets in Guilabo’s backyard
running in vicious circles-
helpless but resisting,
perhaps waiting for fatigue to set in
or for a more lucid
time to still.




You, my brother, have become me.

by A. G. Bawang

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