Ang tunay na lalaki (The Real Man) Stalks in the Streets of New York
Looking to harvest what makes him happy.
The AA meetings have thrown
him into iconoclastic jousts with Titans
and Gorgons with glowing snake eyes
and leather pants. This is life
without the Filipino bottle,
without the star fruit boogie,
without the "bomba" films. He wears black
Dr. Martens boots because slippers
would expose his "provinciano" feet
to the snow. He wants to ride
the back of a caribou and bolt
up Madison Avenue screaming
like Tandang Sora or shout
"hala-bira! hala-bira! hala-bira!"
like his Isneg cousins in Aklan.
"Ay, susmaryosep!" Such bad behavior
from the "true male" of Filipino
advertising. He looks at his reflection
on a book store window, notices
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poem by Nick Carbo
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Ang Tunay Na Lalaki Meets Barbie At The Shark Bar
on Mulberry and Spring on a rainy night.
Her head sticks out of some woman’s tote bag
placed on top of the bar, she winks
at Ang Tunay na Lalaki. He looks at his gin and tonic,
looks back at the doll and hears her tiny voice
even though her lips aren’t moving. "Hi there,
big guy. I was made in the Philippines. You look
like you were made there too." He responds
just to humor himself, "Where, at the Subic Bay
manufacturing plants? Did you enjoy
being made by exploited laborers?" Barbie crawls
onto the sticky bar and sits herself on the edge
crossing her legs. "I remember those delicate fingers
expertly sewing the hairs to my head. Those women
were so nice to me." She bends at her waist
to let her hair down and dramatically lifts her head up
so her blond locks turn into a glamorous puff,
"See, they did a good job. You must admit."
"You’re incorrigible," he exhales a cloud of smoke
after lighting up a cigarette, "And you’re
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poem by Nick Carbo
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When The Grain Is Golden and The Wind Is Chilly Then it is Time To Harvest
Leron-leron sinta, umakyat sa papaya
Dala-dala’y buslo’, sisidlan ng bunga
In a dusty village in Cagayan Valley,
Ramon and his father were planting rice when soldiers
appeared on their farm. They questioned his father,
if he’d seen any communist rebels recently
in the area, and when he did not give them
a good enough answer, they beat him with the blunt ends
of their rifles, shot him as he was lying
on the ground. Ramon snuck away but remained hidden
in nearby bushes, to witness the soldiers
laugh out loud as they chopped his father’s shaking body--
'they first removed his penis, then cut below
the knees, then the ankles, then the elbows, then the neck.'
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poem by Nick Carbo
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