He unhooks the rope, places the knot to the skiff

and drags it towards the water. Unreadable, the waves

are pages that keep on rewriting themselves, like thoughts

of the American President on China’s artificial islands

at West Philippine Sea. He could see the structures

from where he stood, as if some rich neighbor
decided to build a strip club on a sand bar. But he was not

bent on avoiding them, these “builders in bad faith,”

as the Barangay Captain calls them. For he, his father

before him, and all the village fishermen had long

considered that reef as their inter-island waiting shed,

shoal away from shore. So he packs his provisions of fresh
water, dried fish, rice, kerosene lamp, transistor radio.

He fixes the nets and of course, the bayonet. He once

found it during an oyster dive, sharp metal stabbing sand,

glinting in underwater sunlight. Did some WWII soldier

drop it to mark our Exclusive Economic Zone as prelude

to the UNCLOS? He asks himself, aware of the proviso
in the Constitution reserving all archipelagic marine

resources for Filipinos. He pushes for the sea, the skiff,

a sharp pen piercing through sand and waves as if writing

land titles. Better occupy the waves than be written off.

Treaties redefining territoriality become useless in the context

of man-made shores and artificial islands. He turns the radio
on and Floyd Mayweather is now being booed, declared

winner over Manny Pacquiao. The “Pambansang Kamao,”

they say, carried the game, the elusive American, all form,

all technique, won by points before a jeering live audience.

Is this how boxing should be, won by crafty non-fighters

with cheap tricks? Boxing can’t win wars. He thinks. “I thought
I won,” said Pacquiao, apparently, more dizzy with the defeat

than the punches. Manny, you can never win against Money, no.

Not against this undefeated American in US shores. Their government

needs him in this age of ISIS and Chinese threat. He tells the Las Vegas

prize fighter, still thinking of how Obama danced around, ran,

hugged, elbowed, jabbed, and smiled his way off a China issue,
whether or not the Philippines can expect American military

support in case of war. His motor is roaring now, in full throttle

towards the Chinese firmament. “Manny can’t beat Floyd

because he’s not bright enough,” he hears Floyd’s father.

So he throws the net down the water, a Chinese vessel

speeding towards him, his bayonet shining under the sun.