Mr. Right

 

 

I
He cringes at the sight of blood
He doesn’t fancy a Glock to scare off the mob
He avoids mundane conversations & the crowd
He basks in the cool ambience of coffee shops
scholarly dissertations & paramilitary blogs
He leaves for Harvard to escape the heat
of Manila & clean-cut hustlers at the office
& Women? They flock to him, gadfly of Pentagon
He prefers dark Italian suits, or jusi barong
Kids, of course, must dress conservatively
no hip-hop shirts nor baggy pants
to make them look like ghetto punks
& the missus? Must show a minimum of stones
hint of mascara, shade of cheekbones
white, white teeth for cutting ribbons
Yes, they pray to keep the family intact
& observe all homilies of Catholic bishops
He believes in the Holy Trinity: himself, state, church
& When, on television, he passionately defends
La Presidente against plotters & miscreants:
all must respect authorities en banc
It comes straight from his cacique heart –
false allegations of foul-mouthed militants
who incite proles – cheap, crude, ignorant –
barely knowing why capital, not labor,
brings fish & rice on the common table
He signs official bills, at Malacanang’s beck & call
Does he care a hoot if lowlifes live in hell?
The law is the law, apostates deserve the jail.

II
He adores Paul Klee’s lines geometric –
it’s how the post-modern world projects
architecture of colors & space to signify
reality is all structure & objects minimal,
lawfully affirms the truth that testifies
everything’s flow of stone, water & fire –
Heil! Those who contend the general fix
that Art is Art O never partisan of cliques,
who craft their notions never by class or creed.
If so, we’re ideological, vindictive
if aesthetics sponsors that rebellious wish
devouring eventually all children & verities.
Yes, yes: damn those cadres of underground limericks
who spin the apocalyptic texts of the weak
Art is pure religion, should not be held captive
by men with armalites blazing in their grief.
Art is an emperor’s equipoise of tea & cups
that cool down all tempests in the blood.

III
Only national men of arts & letter
deserve his accolade, his bag of silver –
Those investors in passion & pain
who advocate that class is an impediment
to the grail of truth that’s heaven-sent
Only loyal men of arts & letter…

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