FOB

I was baptized yesterday.

While riding

The downtown train

This drunken old guy

Sat in front of me

And called me

A FOB.

I wondered

Is this a rite of passage?

Is this the moment

When I can truly

Call myself

Filipino-Canadian

Now that I have suffered

The indignity

Of being called

A FOB?

I wanted to explain

That Filipinos

Didn't come off boats

We were actually cloned

In fish tanks

Filled

With amniotic fluids

By scientists

Who wanted to create

The ideal race

Of biomechanical

Slave laborers.

Since birth

We were raised in laboratories

To become exported products

Parceled in cryogenic stasis chambers

Smuggled overseas like weapons

Of mass destruction

Armed and ready to serve

With a friendly smile.

You see us everywhere

Cleaning the aisles of Wal-Mart

Scrubbing the toilets at Hilton hotels

Feeding the dying in retirement homes

With the efficiency of supercomputers.

We're the cybernetic waiters

Who flip burgers at McDonald's

Who clean tables at A&W

Who slip into sewers

In the dead of winter

To fix cables and telephone wires.

Complacency was a trait

Bioengineered within us

By our parents

Who were also bioengineered

By their own parents

As living commodities.

When enough Filipinos

Have been manufactured

We shall be sold

In vending machines

For a dollar each.

Miniature Filipinos

Encased in small plastic canisters

That can be slipped inside

Shirt pockets.

Introducing

The Portable Filipino Manservant.

Add a drop of water

Watch him grow instantly.

He's biodegradable

He's recyclable

He can suck your cock

He can suck your wife's cock

He can take your children to school

Clean the pool

Mow the lawn

Wash the dishes

Lie to your wife

Whenever you come home late.

She'll always believe

The Portable Filipino Manservant

Because the Filipino never lies

His word is the Word of God

Who created the Filipino

In his own image:

A lamb

Destined to be crucified

On the neon billboard

Of globalization

Beneath the grinning visage

Of Saint Ronald McDonald.

Of course

I didn't say all that

To the drunken asshole

Who called me a FOB.

FOB?

FOB?

Fresh off the boat?

Fresh off what boat?

Nobody uses boats anymore

Or planes for that matter.

The Chinese have invented

Mass teleportation devices.

The Japanese have IPODS

That can dig wormholes

In four dimensional space.

The Indonesians have mastered

The fine art of astral projection.

Only North Americans use planes.

Nowadays

There are faster ways

To get from point A to Z

From Morocco

To the Andromeda Galaxy.

But what about Filipinos

How do they travel?

Well

That's what I explained

To my loaded old friend

As I leaned towards him

And said:

I'm Filipino

I didn't come off a boat

I fucking swam.

Bio: Joshua Bartolome is the love child of Washington-based poet and playwright Regie Cabico and Sheri-D Wilson, Calgary's award-winning spoken word pioneer, although he's not entirely sure which one actually gave birth to him, and he doesn't want to know. In 2010, he became a recipient of the RBC Youth Excellence Scholarship for spoken word. He also performed at the 2010 Calgary International Spoken Word Festival under the pseudonym "El Gusano, the Mescaline-Addled Poetry Worm." Josh is twenty-three years old and is currently looking for a girlfriend, preferably Japanese, with one eye, a unibrow and a thick, Russian accent.