Spin

Friday Dance

rush
to bear stinging
from bared stinging
I eat
talk
drink poison
on my way unescorted this time
to piss poison---


Damn if people still don’t squeal the first and last name in one questioning breath.

He approached and I asked with an arched brow, “What’s your name again?” recognizing him as the one watching me after my meeting last summer. I squinted a look at his face.
Need to get eyes checked again.

He introduced himself again.
Known.
Peripheral to---
Alarm.

He continued, “I saw you in Cubao X last summer at the Art Expo but you didn’t recognize me! I knew it was you, wanted to approach you but you were with these guys…Sino ba mga yun? And you’re the same but you look different.”

I laughed, talking like a man, slapping his arm like a man, “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. Tagal na kasi. You look different, too. Gym ba yan? Laki na ng katwan natin Pare ah.”

And he frowned, “Yeah and you look frail. Why do you look like this now? What happened to you...know about this?”
He uses words like “frail” now?
I laughed, “Drugs and lots of sex.”
Report that.

He shook his head.

I laughed.

He shook his head again and asked, “Can I have your number? Let’s get together and catch up.”
And if I refuse the pawn?
Suspicion.
A reprimand.

I smiled and gave it to him, “Sige, Pare, pag nasabi mo na dapat mong sabihin.”

He bowed his head, shrugged.

I laughed, “Don’t worry about it. Good to see you. Sige, ingat ha?”
I’m still beyond you
Always

---away
I return to my seat, “Sorry took so long. Saw someone I knew.”

He answers, “Yeah, we’ve got to get you dancing because you don’t have grace.”

I sputter laughter, “Thanks a lot! And dude, stop watching how I move. You might get blinded, you know.”

I count minus 2 steps:
He saw me walking and crossing the street for a smoke and had asked after I kissed him, “Anong nangyari sa yo? Wala ka ng ka-grace-grace! Ano ba! Dati nasasabayan mo kami! Tara, sayaw ka naming uli minsan. Dun tayo sa Bed.”
And these two gay friends would dance like boys with me to make me dance like a girl since minus 11 steps.

I count minus 11 steps:
She teaches me more how to dance like a boy: corners and snaps of joints, fluid in breaks, like reloading.

I count minus 6 steps:
A butterfly had said, “Ano ba, naka-heels ka. Ayusin mo yan lakad mo ha? Ayoko ng ganyan ang lakad mo. Babae ka.”
And I began walking like a girl
then, dancing like a girl with another girl, I laugh
and saw that I was being watched,
I stopped to a whip and returned to my seat:
“Ang landi mong sumayaw. Kung lumapit pa yun lalaki ng konti sa ‘yo, he’s dead.”
I laughed (a flinch), nodded once more to an edict, and sat like a boy.
Peace.

cut hair short
like a boy to walk like a boy
in heels
able to run or kick
unless reminded or fucked
like a girl to walk like a girl
in heels
when no one’s looking
dance to ballet
or skip
or hop
into hip-hop
on my heels

I sigh, count minus 13 steps, smile, remembering a prom and dancing ballroom, dancing closer to his neck that smelled so good. “Keep your distance,” someone who passed behind me said to my nape, “You’re being watched.”
Always.
I liked his neck,
sighing, I moved
away.