My journey’s interrupted
By every sudden brake. Stopping
On every street, every traffic light. My life
(here atop the Santolan flyover) is going down
Into the waiting mouth of Cubao. I’m so hungry.
But inside this bus, like rag on a clothes line
Along EDSA where the plants and trees have died,
It’s hot. And humid. My insides are on fire. Sweat pours out
All over my body. A part of me gets left behind with every stop…
Wave the fan! Feverish fan! Sigh. So much for our hurried lives.
There’s too many of us chasing after; being chased by
Time. I better buy
Candy and peanuts
For the bus to