[In this poem, Angelo Suarez says exactly what I feel about my country.]
“What sphinx of cement and aluminum
bashed open their skull and ate up
their brains and imagination?”
–Allen Ginsberg, from Howl
you do not own me
you do not own me
coconut country whose blood is concrete
whose eyes are replete with the sight of cement
twin eyelids of corrugated roof
whose skin is corrugated roof
scalp of corrugated roof whose hairs
are filaments of cement
whose nose sniffs cement
& the scent of we concrete
whose nape is replete with tenement homes
dreaming dollars disneyland daisies
dreaming gold mines in america
dreaming America where our people
are cardboard heroes refilling gas tanks
are heroes dying of starvation & shame
of watching their children become children
of domestic helpers domestic heroes
heroes that dry-clean american coats
that man limousines heroes that feed dying americans
their last dying meals osterized like gerber
changing their adult diapers
babies whose tongues
are tongues of cement
are tongues of steel
you do not own me
you do not own me
coconut country whose tv’s are owned by america
whose streets are paved with the golden feathers
of america’s favorite primetime bird
(what giant fists for eyes they have
he & his imaginary elephant friend)
coconut country whose semen is cement
you have been robbed of your legends
what happened to humadapnon gaki
labaw donggon the pagan warriors
whose coconut fists socked the eyes
out of demon sockets
fists that knocked the living daylights
out of demons out of natives
out of the imaginations of natives
whose lands were tilled by their own flaming hands
whose lands were walked upon
by bathala himself
you America whose hand whose throat
whose stomach is filled with the sap of my country
whose eyes are eyes that see
the pornography of my country
whose hands are hands are the hands
that milk my country of its semen & imagination
you America whose mouth has mesmerized
our men with myths of better lives
better planes & better tanks
you whose tales have replaced our tales
with tales of your own
you who own our hotdogs our hamburgers
you who own our tv’s & souls
bring us back our bamboo our children
bring us back our money our coconuts
bring us back our coconuts
and brown-skinned lumawig
will spare you your convenient caucasian lives
you do not own me
you do not own me
coconut country whose heart
is the size of an American fist
for centuries I had owned you
and I will get you get you
and I will get you back
Recent Comments