I will always be there.
When the time is exhumed.
When the photographs are noticed.
I will be pictured grinning
among lords, ladies,
and neophytes.
In the background of the photographs:
the hazy smoke of cigarettes,
a white painted table-
laden with a black wooden guitar,
yugi-oh cards, bottles of beer,
and empty bowls.
In the photos.
Beautiful girls are held
by their long-haired boyfriends.
My arms are empty, or around
the shoulders of unsuspecting batchmates,
expecting to disown me someday.
Or picture of shirtless boys
who dribble around,
shooting the ball impeccably
to the ring.
My hands are empty
in those photos again.
So empty that would provoke me
to cheer for them instead.
I am always there.
For weekly funds, clean-up drives,
critical emergencies in the
middle of the night.
I am always there.
In the annual photos,
wearing pink long-sleeved polo,
belted black formal pants, and
a pair of newly-bought leather shoes.
I appear out of character.
I smile as I serve my duty.
