sorbetes na siling labuyo

The apartment is quiet at 2 am.

The air, freshly scrubbed by the afternoon’s rain,

is perfumed by the scent of damp laundry.

I listen contentedly to the comforting thrum

of the washing machine,

the chirping of the crickets,

the ticking of the occasional lizard

and to the slurping sound of thick, infected mucus

being sucked into someone’s nostril.

Detachedly,

I note how the snorts and ticks provide a rhythmic counterpoint

to the washer’s thrumming

and the crickets’ chirping,

and how nostril and lizard call out to each other

in musical dialogue.

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