Concerning the Fire in Intramuros, March 11, 2007

Not surprisingly, the Marines left
in perfect formation: no single file,
staggered, muffled, one by one. Then,
the explosion. No one heard. The roof
caught fire first, metal as it was,
then the beams. Next, the paper,
the boxes. No one heard. No one saw
the conflagration coming. Two hours.
That’s all it took. The termites made sure
there will be no more wood to burn.

Examining the wreckage, the official
bulletins hiss, There’s nothing here
that you’ll miss, only old records, gun ban
exemptions. The ashes tell otherwise: here
is a box, here is a sheaf of ballots. There,
a case up for review. Returns for recounts.
There’s nothing here that we’ll miss.
The firemen, still drenching the embers,
look up. There’s no pleasure in covering up.
Soon, the rain will come, but before that,
the summer. There will be more fires
to come, more arrested developments,
more news blackouts. The smoke will hang
over a mall. The airport at 3 a.m. An AUV
in Cebu City. This is how it begins:
with a bang no one hears. With a scream
to people gathered outside a store,
wondering about the men with guns. A wizened
man in eyeglasses, kicking until the plane
turns back. A shot heard ‘round the world.
Everything starts here, and will burn
until everyone ends with a whimper.