tɹaɪsɪkəl

 

Short distance routes for the love of the people’s plaza. In the land of guavas and legato-linked pabasas. Far gone since you left this town and its parish kisses traded for maple leaves.

The green tufted Garcia garden behind the churchyard - not even the interstate 3AM tapsi can match. Seattle. Toronto. Burkina Faso. Look, we don’t have the places

so

let’s not talk about getting lost. Let’s talk about our national tɹaɪsɪkəl

racing

in our blood’s activity. It’s normal, you know. Like the Friday tiangge stalls flowering

like freckles in June, someone’s bleeding for what we

are (not).

Drop.

So we have the future in the barangay basketball league. The way we spell “future” makes it easy for us to spell traysikel. Not tricycle. It’s traysikel, Bayani. For they’ve grown digital too,

ask Uncle Pepe.