The New Dentists

Cholo Luistro

Our words are like dirty ice cream
Dripping from our fingers
On the hot Philcoa sidewalk,
Our dude-pare-tsongs the garbled mix
Of strawberry, ube, and macapuno
Melting under the eight-ray sun.

It’s almost like the real thing,
Like how it’s supposed to taste
Miles from where we stand:
The accent of frost basking
In the sweet scent of rustling pine.

ISEMISEMISEEEM!

IMMARTIIMARTIIMARTI!

The askals from the jeepneys bark,
The sticky air reeking of their voices
As they flip through their Bulldogs
Like Mang Mario does
When he’s done browsing the Inquirer
For the numbers he didn’t bet on.

The tropic sun exclaims as we
Feel the sting of heat
Stuttering from the engines.

We coat our tongues with frost,
Dreaming of a distant land

Where the sidewalk glows with snow

And where the ice cream isn’t dirty.

Cholo is a BA Psychology student from UP Diliman. He keeps himself sane by writing, making music, and hanging out with his awesome Psych friends.