BY R. TORRES PANDAN
Yes, it’s been several days already
Of the tomcat gutting my tongue
And the bicycle fit only to recycle,
Headlights out, my feet in neutral,
Shoes running quickly to dust,
Blah-blah wing two birds in the bush
Outside my window, cursing wind
For being unmoving, not even spinning
The dryer—and the wetter the season,
The slower I’ve been tumbled. Stumbling,
Gloom without glory, that is my story.
Almighty Mover, where are Thy truckers?
Did not those mountains crumble,
Those walls fall by imperious command?
You who can make stuff grow,
Make my ankles sprout wings.
My heart, this horrid ticker, please
Make it resume the count again.
Make the world restless.
Save heaven only for the restful.
Make days chase runaway clocks.
Keep always the hours relentless.