by Patrick Rosal
The Halo-Halo Men: An Anthem
We are the halo-halo men
the mix-mix men the fresh-cut-
mango-in-your-mouth men
The men who pee-pee in your Coke
The joke that yokes the beasts
of vinyl and diamond men
The bit-of-salt-to-cut-the-ice men
The wineskins-without-wine
blunt-hilt-of-the-bolo-to-your-head
men We are the how-how men
the carabao men back-to-ten men
Pen-pen men de sarapen
de-kutsilyo men de-alamasen
The when men Come-again men
The middle man and omega men
You build fences for we might
steal your hen men
Kimat and Pang-or men First
to suicide in the cypher men
We use our inside voices
for an outside fight men
say three Hail Mary’s
and whisper Hallelujah
flip the new testament
like we do judo men
vodou men raw blood and
garlic men kilawen men
I say ag-yaman ak
you say A-
Kundiman: Hung Justice
Love, a child dreamt hard of
bread and got history
instead. Someone dreamt of
maggots jeweled in meat and
brought out blades in the name
of good science, ardor.
But who’ll list kinships in
English between slaughter
and laughter? Who’ll recruit
heaven’s splendid refuse,
junk, our silent brigades
of busted blue-black horns,
swordless squadrons, the hum
and ruckus of strung-up
ghosts, the delirium
of angels and muddy
hilt and rust, this finch-quick
trigger, dull dagger third-
muscle deep, gas-sopped rag?
Who’s got lungs for song? Hoist
not a schoolyard’s one taut
noose or red bunting bloom.
My America, you
can’t even love a face
as handsome as a bomb.
