by: Francis C. Macasantos

It would be nice to have a house
with a yard big enough to put a garden in.
In front of the house, of course, facing the sunrise.
I suppose they must have gardens and gardens of these
out there in the country, where they came from...
So early in the morning yet, yes?
Jeepload of them I hear.
Only, I never get to wake up that early.
It must be nice to have a job like that...
Just pick them at early dawn
and you've got room and board, yes?
It would be nice to put them under the pillow-cover
and let their sweet perfume put you to sleep.
But how would I know where they end up
before I get to sleep, somewhere?
The poor things... they gey wilted and dusty
at the end of the day. But my customers don't complain.
Mommy says to smile and offer up the garland
Until the fellow bends. Ha! Ha! Then you can see his scalp!
But you must gently shake your head if he dig for some coins.

 I remember, once, when the old guy... the old guy...
He tripped and almost fell on me!
These foreigners are so tall!
But I think they like us better
than those who paint it up to look older.
Of course, I may have to do that, too, someday,
because it does look awkward to sell flowers in the dark.
You've got to be spotted, somehow,
some other way than this. The first time was quite easy-
mommy arranged for everything.
And I had better rates, then.
Everyone gets it highest the first time.
I don't know why, really.
But we're supposed to be ignorant about it,
or we pretend, we are, or else, sometimes, they can't do it.
My mother- she was one for locking up her room
for hours and hours, not to be disturbed.
And yet, whenever she'd get drunk she'd talk about it
and laugh and laugh. Myself used to think I'd like it.
Maybe I will, when I bleed regular.
But for some reason, we're not supposed to like it.
But shit, you know? Sometimes, when you don't act well enough,
They shrink up! Oh! I don't know what they like!
Sometimes, I think I'll never get to like it,
though they say I will, eventually.
I used to play, like most kids,
and I'd get a thrill, you know. Oh, you know!
Now, I don't know what I'm supposed to like, anymore,
or what not to.
I wish I were somewhere else, really,
have a nice garden, somewhere.

(3rd year, Lit 107- Poetry)

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