The young boy was pale,
He walked slowly in the alley
No. 41.His skeleton hand hold a rusted tin can.
He was in business,for him it was.
On his innocent face,
In a modern world,who really forgotten
Kids like him was also human too.His eyes
Pasted on a piece of bread on the dirty pavement.
On his side was tall buildings,on the other was a busy EDSA.
A dove whose feather blacken by the third world metropolis,
Peeped down from the lamp post,
Measuring the distance of the bread on the ground
Look at the child,inclining its head side ward,
Then,their eyes meet,resting on each other stare
And it flew toward the blinding sun.
The boy saw a man approached,
Polished shoes landed on his lunch
The gold Rolex,tailored clothes,big ring,
A heavy necklace hung loosely on beefy neck.
Surprised on a sudden hand that raised on his way,
“Move out!” bellowed angrily,then scurried quickly on a green light.
“Fool…”the boy sighed.
Business is business,he thought,as he reached out the crushed bread
Uttered a little prayer,ate it religiously with tears on his eyes.
Every bite he remembered his little brother he left on their box house
At Coney Island outside National park at Manila,its smoke ascend forever
Till the end of time,because of the corrupt lordship in a white palace.
His little brother burned at stake alive waiting for his pancit.
His father was an inmate at Bilibid prison selda 3.
His mother was a girl in the street.
Then an old woman came out at the Binondo Church.
Walked briskly as the wind swept the dusk on summer days.
Stopped,a discolored dirt hand spread for an alms.
Irritated,she rummaged her purse,and gently place the one peso
on the boys hand,made sure to slow her movement,maybe father Gutierrez witness.
Might mention her name in homily,Mrs. Cerbo was kind to the poor.
He spit the coin and swipe it on his dirty torn shirt
And say…”God Blessed Maddame.”
Then he ran at the little mart.
Brought a piece of bread,break it into halves
He hid his share on his pocket
Then tossed the half on the grass.