Manang entreats some saint

for her basket of fish to be sold

fish that’s fresh no more, rancid nearly

dead red-eyed scaly, a week-old almost


Go buy her galunggong

so tomorrow on doorsteps

she can vend again, a different fish

dead red-eyed scaly, all the way

from Nasugbu, have coffee if there’s any

the world’s a bit dreary


A lot to be mad about

ICT deals priced thrice as high

politicians’ pockets bulging (much

larger than crotches ever could)


Skulls cracked open, thighs hemorrhaged

by rifle butts and baseball bats

in the name of brotherhood, supremacy

salivating spitting private armies of mining firms

large-scale, looming, lots of moolah. Brouhaha

Ah, there is plenty to be angry.



Take this moment, utter some thanks.

Hush and hear.

Nihilism was never the magic wand.