Why The Road Is Wet On Monday Mornings When I Head For School Poem by Neile Genica Mijares

Always on a Sunday night

Leh-ter-bey

Leh-ter-bey

Leh-ter-bey

Leh-tehr-bey…



Uncle sings long tunes

That travel the stretch of Guibilondo Street

His songs tumble in potholes

His melody reverberates

In the crookedness of the road

Hir-ayam, rock yah laika horicane

Hir-aya-am, rock yah laika ho-ri-ca-yin…



Sounds are rusty old jeepneys

That many a times Manuel, our neighbor Carmen’s son

Tries to hail with “hoy”

Wid dah children ob tamorow share da dream

Ob you en mey…



And each tire-screeching falsetto

Driven on the microphone is en route to heaven –

A vehicle for rain

Lessen to weend

Ob chaaange…