Calamus Poem by A. G. Bawang

I heard of you
From mouths that have tasted crème brulee
and from tongues that have endured caviar
They have often argued whether
you are Mediterranean or Italian
It didn’t really matter
I cannot have you anyhow.

A client mentions you and I stiffen,
the lunch is not reimbursable
I asked for service water
and ordered something I could’ve gotten
at mang Tenorio’s bakery
at three fourths the penalty

He forks the last of you and I pray,
God, dear God,
let him have a small stomach

So instead of flagging a cab,
I moseyed into the back alleys
of that sloping road
where animal insides are deep fried
in improvised henny pennies
and where the air was also suddenly filled
With the unmistakable scent of your name-
You could not possibly be here!

I didn’t mind the dust, the smoke
And the overused oil
Nor the unwashed plastic bottles of gravy
These perhaps added to the piquancy

I bring the stick to my mouth
and I squeal
a curse.