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ALBERT B. CASUGA, a Philippine-born writer, lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he continues to write poetry, fiction, and criticism after his retirement from teaching and serving as an elected member of his region's school board. He was nominated to the Mississauga Arts Council Literary Awards in 2007. A graduate of the Royal and Pontifical University of St. Thomas (now University of Santo Tomas, Manila. Literature and English, magna cum laude), he taught English and Literature (Criticism, Theory, and Creative Writing) at the Philippines' De La Salle University and San Beda College. He has authored books of poetry, short stories, literary theory and criticism. He has won awards for his works in Canada, the U.S.A., and the Philippines. His latest work, A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems was published February 2009 by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. His fiction and poetry were published by online literary journals Asia Writes and Coastal Poems recently. He was a Fellow at the 1972 Silliman University Writers Workshop, Philippines. As a journalist, he worked with the United Press International and wrote an art column for the defunct Philippines Herald.

Saturday, March 2, 2013



Sun through a skim of clouds. A nuthatch and a downy woodpecker trade anxious, nasal notes between the faint shadows of the trees. ---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch

N:      Think this winter will be our last? Mayan 2012, remember?
DW:  Nah, might just be a peep at the God Particle by a savant.
N:      What’s with the peppy, sunshiny, head-in-the-clouds cant?
DW:  Been pecking on wood all my life! What’s with the dander?
N:      Not enough nuts or weevils as it is. Why end it all? It’s futile.
DW:  Boredom. Renewal. Occupy. He’s hinted these for a while.
N:      Occupy. Uh-oh. Come back to reclaim this neck of the woods?
DW:  Final Coming. Like Advent. Last trip, like. He’s tired. Pissed.

N:      Like driving scruffy tenants out for punching holes on walls?
DW:  More like ozone layer holes. Global warming, oil spills, Nuts.
N:      T
hey’re already murdering each other. Wars, famine, Woods.
DW:  He’s got to have the last say. He wants them to say: We repent!

N:      What’s the point? Couldn’t he consider his love well spent?
DW:  Don’t know about you. I would like to bore a few more holes.

—Albert B. Casuga

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