Today, I'm a Tech Guy, But

Back in the days,
I worked full-time
catching grasshoppers.

They were never hard
to catch. I wondered sometimes
what good it did them,
the power kicks that soared
them through the air,
only to have them slam
head-first into the
palm of my hand.

I would drop them
in clear plastic bags
then join my colleagues
for a late lunch
at the sapodilla forest
where we climbed trees
as high as our guts took us.

We could never enjoy
a full meal.
After a bite or two,
our neighbor would come
storming out of his house,
stick in hand.

One by one, we would
jump out onto the
naked ground, plastic
bags in our fists,
kicking hard on the
field of wet grass,
hopping, soaring,

summer wind against
our laughing faces.

Paper Cup

My eyes traverse this whole side of the earth
in a paper cup.
I have emptied it a minute ago –
black coffee I almost spilled
when you asked me something
unanswerable

And yet I did answer
the same time I reprimanded myself
for having emptied the cup too soon.
I didn't want to startle you
so I stayed silent about coffee particles
that have settled to the base:

They refuse to dissolve, continents of them
like how it must feel
to stay self, particulate
despite intimations of promises
I cannot dare unmask.
And I bask

At how well I hid from you
the strangest information of their motility
when I tilt the container –
paper cup whose rim I tore up
when I told you something
incomprehensible

Like time.

palindrome

02022020, the same when read backwards
like the bed i lay in last night:
top-bottom-top
pain-pleasure-pain

and thoughts of you when it started,
thoughts of you while they took their turns,
thoughts of you when i left.