filipinos age (too) well: a thesis in three parts

poetry

I.
so i’m teaching the other day when there is a knock on the door i answer it and it is a mother i stand at the slightly open door as the mother peers over each of my shoulders (which is not very difficult given my ancestry) and then asks is the teacher in there oh you’re the teacher you look so young how old are you i’m (fucking) twenty four and yes i look young (but i’m the only person in this room wearing a fucking tie).

II.
in school again the day is almost over i am standing at my desk and children are trickling in when in wanders another mother report card in hand and her son in tow she is clearly here to inquire about his grade but there’s that look again that vacant glance searching everywhere failing to find an authority (loooking) figure she then approaches a seated female student and begins discussing said report card.

III.
this time it’s a man on the doorstep of my house he begins to look over my shoulders and mumbles something about wanting to speak to the man of the house yes i am him i live here nah the MAN of the house yes i (fucking) own the house ignoring me he seeks the hand of my friend who granted has facial hair and welcomes him to the (fucking) neighborhood.