He finds on cheap match covers. <br />PLEASE MAKE ME <br />TASTE LIKE A MAN <br />is the first one he reads after lighting up <br />an American Spirit cigarette on the corner <br />of Broadway and Houston. The painted Statue <br />of Liberty on the giant DKNY ad on the side <br />of the building winks her big blue eye <br />as if she understands what those words mean, <br />as if she could make him taste like a man. <br />The street sign changes to WALK <br />and the natural smoke of the natural cigarette <br />feels good in his lungs. He thinks <br />of the taste of fried garlic, of anise seeds, <br />of rambutan fruit, of broiled tuna-- <br />none comes close to what a man <br />would taste like in his mind. He reaches <br />underneath his shirt and sweater to scratch <br />his left arm-pit. He smells his fingers <br />and thinks: this is what a Filipino man <br />must taste like to American women. <br />To test his hypothesis, he sticks <br />his index finger in his mouth, pulls <br />it out with a slurpy sound and points upwards <br />as if he were testing the wind, <br />as if he were carrying a flaming torch.<br /><br />Nick Carbo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ang-tunay-na-lalaki-the-real-man-is-baffled-by-c/
