And the old men’s hair style is the same –

parted partway from the temple

curling silver grey blonde

wave slick with Brylcreem.
And the cancer skin of these men

flushes pink in the Filipina bars

old and flaming, shirts open like

Miami-Hollywood-Down Under men.
And they say it’s too early for the barongs.

That you Pull that shit in the villages,

where the girls are young and dumb

cos those pineapple clothes will kill ya.
And in the hotels, we see them –

lazy ugly popped out guts cackling

about little brown fucking machines.

But the girls get pushed from behind 
from families in nipper huts in provinces

and rubbish mounds in barrios.

The girls say, Hey Joe, guapo guapo

and the men smile stupid stupid with San Miguel
and show off square wallets fat with pesos

and photos of Mercedes with the top down

and caravans on edge of the bush.

And the women practise saying woop woop 
and the men say we’ve had enough rice to be Chinese,

and they say come back with me sweety

and see my fast car for fast women

and their arms lump over them like damp clothes.