NGM (Jan.15,1987 / Mabolo, Sugbu)

Why The Road Is Wet On Monday Mornings When I Head For School

Always on a Sunday night





Uncle sings long tunes

That travel the stretch of Guibilondo Street

His songs tumble in potholes

His melody reverberates

In the crookedness of the road

Hir-ayam, rock yah laika horicane

Hir-aya-am, rock yah laika ho-ri-ca-yin…

Sounds are rusty old jeepneys

That many a times Manuel, our neighbor Carmen’s son

Tries to hail with “hoy”

Wid dah children ob tamorow share da dream

Ob you en mey…

And each tire-screeching falsetto

Driven on the microphone is en route to heaven –

A vehicle for rain

Lessen to weend

Ob chaaange…

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