Problem Is
by Conchitina R. Cruz
They say poor Filipinos multiply
like rabbits since they have nothing
to do but fuck. Living in houses with room
only for the inevitable brush
of the hand against the buttock in between
chores, on the way to switch
channels to the daily noontime show,
no money and little space
lead to nowhere
but to coupling. We used to joke
and call our selves typical Filipinos,
broke and empty-handed,
when all we did was touch, and for all
the movies we missed, fancy dinners
we didn’t have, books we borrowed
but never owned,
we compensated
by making love.
You told me not to worry,
that someday the worst
would end, just a couple of right
moves and it would be over.
Should I have told you then
we’d never been better,
should I have told you then
to hold your tongue, but we had
no room for such words.
We were rabbits,
Seeking the other side, bent on
Crossing the pasture.
