A poem: by Rebecca S E Baroma
Solving the Sweetest Science
Daddy didn't like
To be bothered
solving the sweetest science
staring at the screen, Muhammad Ali Fly like a butterfly Sting like a bee.
Back in the early stages of the day,
before he married my mother
and had me and the other two, before Hanoi took Ho Chi Minh,
from across the sea,
it was his tatay,s stomach aching fantasy for his son to join
the US Navy, be a Seabee" because his tatay's feet hurt
since the death march of Bataan.
Because daddy passed some tests: MacArthur or McCarthy (he got them mixed up),
and stuff of History, no TB,
pure blood and no flatfeet,
he pulled outfits, rat-a-tat-tat and bang, bang, bang, bang!
as @f he were going back home to La Union,
in the boyish slippers that bared his dirty feet and spread-out toes,
when he from stealing and sharing a fat dog
and his bones for his tatay and family
to fulfill that stomach aching fantasy.
He marched, saluted, and restrained-the respect of a soldier on and (mostly) off
duty, off guard:
Houseboy! Where're my dag gan shoes?
Didya. shine 'em
Sumva bitch, if I can't sees
my giddan -reeeeflekshun in ‘em
and you make sure ya tell yer ye Ha friends
in that there galley
below ima cravin' filet mignon, rare! fer feed,
not too much seasonin'
mind you, y'all put too much salt.
Though it was close to the last round
Daddy didn't like to be bothered
until the fight was over, he had his
orders, a special duty assigned
for his kind--a one-on-one
(published poem by Rebecca Baroma, Northridge Review, UCUN)