Byaheng Langit (Ride to Heaven)

Para, boss
Swerve
To the side
Walk in stride, I must
The radio blast
Past the corner
A preacher asks
Why do you doubt?
Am I not allowed
To close my eyes
White-knuckle
Manspread
Through fear?

Towel on his shoulder
He crosses himself
Feet on the gas
Around the corner
She rattles past me
Cover your mouth
Drown in thick cloud
From the exhaust
Incense
Cigarette
What’s the difference?

Daisy-chain smoke
How to step outside
The mission
The habit of salvation
When the end
Is where we begin
And the beginning hangs
Somewhere high.

In their mind
Flying like heroes
One blinding
Vertiginous mist
A frothing haze
Sputtered on Taft
Driver-may-care
Rosary on the mirr’r
He crosses himself
And curses at the uncouth
Who crosses him
Carrying his passengers
To the destination
They never signed up for.

Originally published on my Substack. Photo by John Esperancilla on Unsplash.