Some poems don’t really talk much
instead some sprout limbs and learn to walk
up and down the city with one word
following the other.
This verse scours the streets to find
what it really means
to be a poem
in this city. One must pay the price
after all, words don’t come so easy.
But play right and words can be won
off a jeepney and its conductor passing by
or teased out of a bottle of Tanduay or
peeled off campaign posters on walls.
Look for those quick, hesitant glances
of those searching love. Wait
listen to the thrum of the sidewalk.
The right words will come.