Lugaw at Victory, Baguio 2109
Hand on my shoulder
Light, dark, small, full grown
Arthritic fingers like pigeons
Returning home, like snail spirals,
Lined like a receipt, crumpled and discarded
Swept to the street margin
Of the dusty bus terminal.
She asks for a but a fingernail
Of what I have
As if restitution for the imbalance
Of justice in our juxtapose
for some though - it's just us
ReplyDeletetheir 'justice' is just a pose