Millenial Macoy

Vehicles of all sorts cannot move
anymore. Stoplights have failed —
only yellow lights blink fighting for
the mission. Drivers keep stepping
on the brakes, letting go once in a while
to achieve some movement.

In the middle of this busy street, a lad
sits behind the wheel of his shiny BMW.
He adjusts his rear-view mirror and checks
his reflection.

As if remembering something,
he reaches out
to the glove compartment and smothers
his palm with hand sanitizer.
He turns up
the volume of his radio.

Magnanakaw! Hindi bayani! Busina!
Isang busina lang! Para sa hustisya!

On his right side, protesters scream for justice,
their cries blending with the music he hears.
Bobbing his head, he sits there
in his air-conditioned car, while they
bear the heat, and breathe in fumes.

 

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