Ferdinand and Imelda were desolatein their empty palace. Ferdinand had run outof places to stash his gold bars. There’s no room,they were cramped, Imelda did not have enoughfeet to wear all her shoes. So that Sundaythey prayed for a little boy to feedupon and at the foot of their palace beda squash grew and grew and Ferdinand thought,Finally, more room for my gold bars,and Imelda thought, Finally, more roomfor my shoes. So they took outa bolo, first admiring its ivory handle,inlaid with mother of pearl, but beforethey could carve out an openingto their new storage space, a Guerrilla Boy cameout and demanded a bath. Imelda had justthe silver basin for the occasion. And as waterran off the Guerrilla Boy, the droplets turnedinto gold and what would happenif this Boy were to marinatein their Olympic-sized swimming pool,why it would end our poverty, so they threwthe Guerrilla Boy into the water, which rangold and sometimes silver, sometimesrubies, sometimes the bluest sapphire,even a long-lost Monet painting,and they loved this Guerrilla Boy so,wept loud at his endless drowning.