An Elephant in the Room

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An Elephant in the Room

There's an elephant in the room.
But I do not see it. I see the angpao
--given by my godfather a few years ago -- 
on my writing table. Someone
opened it and left the evidence.

There's an elephant in the room.
But I do not hear it. I hear the heavenly
dripping of the coffee from the coffee maker.
Every drip is a note from an angel's lyre,
waking the sleeping mind from a now forgotten dream.

There's an elephant in the room.
But I do not know it's scent. Does it smell
like a pigsty? A hen house? A loafing shed?
What I smell is the fragrance of sweet rain outside,
bathing the concrete houses and their colorful roofs.

There's an elephant in the room.
But I do not eat bushmeat. If there's any chance, 
I won't. I will not also buy ivory products.
The elephant is critically endangered.
That is enough reason.

There's an elephant in the room.
It lingers, waiting there in the corner.
Don't you fret, I will write about it.

August 15, 2021
Quezon City