Foreigners

 

I didn’t know what the Filipinos were laughing
        at.
A Japanese got on a jeepney and the Filipinos
        laughed, talked.
Some Koreans passed our corner and the Filipinos
        furtively heckled,
Laughing at- . . . French documentary filmmakers
Were here yesterday, they got jeers and laughter
        from
Filipinos for a welcome. I didn’t know what was
Funny. When I asked the Filipinos, they laughed

At me!—some of them falling off the table with
        Laughter.
Pardon my ignorance. Call me a monkey or what but
I wouldn’t know what the Filipinos were laughing at.
Yesterday, a black Nigerian showed up, and then an
American record producer. Filipinos would always
Laugh and laugh or laugh and heckle or laugh and
Sneer and laugh or talk and talk and laugh, talking,
With me not knowing, me not learning anything, . . .

Everybody just happy laughing at the earrings of
        poster rock stars,
The accents of visiting scientists, the freckles of
        National
Geographic personnel, the frown of Marxist Review
        staffs,

I couldn’t know what should be funny. I felt like a
        foreigner
In my own country of laughing, poor ignoramuses—
        who probably did.

 

 

—3 Oct./92

 

 

 

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