Country Bumpkin Blues

Human trails of city slickerin livin, kinda orderly now than just four or so years ago
Pavements moltin under the mornin sun, peddlers of all sorts, old and kid peddlers
Peddlin plastic junk, plastic food, rice cakes, fresh boiled peanuts, flowerin orchids
Traffic worker beckons peddlers outta the way, he goes to a 8 year old girl like she
Was 30 and asks where’s your husband? where? oh the paper trailin at village hall wow
The place is full of paid civil servants having one hell of a good time, unbelievable
Is this a government office or a carnival? whatever, I got my pieces of paper, signed
Sealed and all, city hall was no different, long orderly queues but I got me special treat
Ment, it aint for nothin that ma worked 4 decades in civil service, fellow called Gomer
Pushed me through police and national bureau of investigation, bloody first time to
Get biometric bullshit, refused it at the British Embassy before, now what can I do say
It is all over the place the Fingerprint of God, but sit for a while and paper files in, amazin
We all sit under a giant banyan tree its leaves fallin on us all waitin for more papers papers
Bureaucracy works despite-really because of the mess, we slither through the alleys
And halls and doors like termites sans the eatin, everyone friendly cramped together
But bloody hell watch your bags, high-noon all the work done, head whirlin but I think
God I think this place is goin to grow back on me, these are my people, these are my
Pain, we anonymous cogs in the jitterin machine of endless work and endless consumption
No time, too little chance for thinkin nor dreamin but just the dreamy glow of yer cheap
Smuggled gadget makin someone else out there filthy rich, we is the salt of the concrete!

Fatima Lasay, Quezon City
Friday, April 4, 2014

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