Christmas in Summer

The intense heat of the lights
add to the already-hot and humid air.
Then suddenly, two familiar faces
duck into my doorway,
step into my humble abode,
and make a slight quip
about how long my ceiling is.
I try to remember where I've seen them before,
and when they suddenly pull out
a wad of thousand-peso bills,
it dawns on me.

These guys are hosts
from that noontime television show,
and with their cameras pointing at me,
I suddenly realize that I am on the air.
The words they speak
do not register in my simple mind,
which has now frozen at the sight of money.
They hand me a total of
fifteen thousand pesos
while two more people barge in,
one with a year's supply of shampoo
(from their sponsors)
and another with a roasted pig
that could feed five families
(also from their sponsors).

Then with a friendly tap on my shoulder,
they leave my house,
ducking the same way they came in,
and I couldn't hear the host
laughing "Ho, ho, ho!" as he went,
because I myself
was laughing inside.

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

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My Literary Side

"The Words come from the Divine; from the Muse the Idea. The Poet merely transcribes." ┼Old Sumerian proverb

(Kidding, I made that up. LOL)