Well-bellied, Ben says, "Letsugo,"
and saunters onto the cracked earth,
as hot as Ben's smile swings wide,
the relative nightcool giving way
even now
at eight a.m.
"The thresher is here", he says,
tongue well short of an interdental "th",
and we watch puffs of dust
announce the event as half
the baranguay watches it
squeak to a stop.
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