The Plan

I will pack the few things I have
earned through living and go to X.

I will hail a taxi and brave
Manila traffic. I will make it

in time for my flight. The driver
will not mutter under his breath

when I give him the exact fare.
I will get a window seat, stare

at the clouds, and wonder idly
about the sad work of water,

hauling itself off the earth.
I will have time to wonder.

My boss will not be there to look
through the glass of his office.

I will look below and wave goodbye
to nothing. I will sleep for hours.

I will wake up to a new smell
as the plane touches down

on the island whose natives,
with skin browner than mine,

will welcome me with a dance
to music I will not understand.

I will sit on the sand and watch
the rain crashing into the sea.

I will never leave.
I will never leave.