IF THIS DIRTY RIVER COULD
ONLY SPEAK
by Joel Vega
It used to bring dead birds and
dented Pepsi cans
With the evening tide, and with
a flaming sunset hides
A stream of greyish-brown detritus.
What clever tricks it could make
with the five o’clock sun
Like the way the eggshell white
paint hides the cracks
On the Palace walls or the fine
folds of expensive jusi
Subtly conceals a gambler’s beer
belly.
It used to be a beauty, they say.
In forgotten songs
It was a femme fatale with a
mournful tune and a doleful
Stare. Now it could not even
wash its hair.
Even the foul-mouthed drunks
of Tondo would not dare,
For a thousand pesos, wet their
toes in the western shores.
They say it reeks of ammonia,
Only suicides and the deeply
disturbed will ignore.
But a river, however repugnant,
still has it uses.
It deflected a dying despot’s
wish for a grand exit,
Made him fly out in a chopper,
his head padded with Pampers.
And still another pretender made
use of a fluvial trick
But only after the muddy waters
greased his shoes
Replaced the Armani with ammonia
And crusted his eyes with salt.
It used to bring dead birds and
dented Pepsi cans
Sees shores not as limits
And garbage as gifts
If only this dirty river could
speak.
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