Power Distance

Nine hours after hiding

the severity of kinetic studies and efficacy graphs

in the ease of Panglao,

the pharmaceutical conference

finally lost

its brilliance.

Still armoured in his tie and twill suit,

my boss invites me to explore

the afternoon slivers of land on his rented Kawasaki.

I cannot say no and

become his helmetless pillion in seconds,

my grip tenacious

on his fabric shoulders.

He pushes north for an hour,

deserting in our trail

hired girlfriends and

orange signs that declare San Miguel as

Ito Ang Beer,

until we finally hit the rugged village roads.

His voice whips the wind

about a similar childhood,

thieving mangoes and spiders.

I know about his oldest brother,

now Australian,

but not the introvert,

nor a sister

once the adhesive of the family

now deceased.

He is earnest to reconnect but

inertia always wins.

In the back, I trace

the regret in his words.

Between the conference then,

the countryside now,

there is no balance

in this sudden biography.

He is pleased when I suggest

we stop for a cigarette,

his first in years.

There are no words exchanged,

only smoke,

and we have forgotten

about this power distance and

Monday morning.