Why Don't They Hate Us?

At the risk of appearing immodest,

I believe myself to be a frustrated “realist”.

For three weeks in Vietnam I listened,

And heard no condemnation of America.

In relating my surprise to my friend Andy,

He confirmed a similar experience in 1989.

There was no apparent venom then, 

Merely an explanation of the label “American War. ”

For almost 10 years we savaged their country,

In order to “save it from communism.”

We never stopped to recognize they were fighting for unification,

It is still a communist country, but now with a capitalist edge.

Given the 500,000+ troops we sent to Vietnam,

The local fatalities of over 1,000,000 people,

Along with agent orange, and the My Lai Massacre,

Who could forgive?

Maybe it’s Buddhism, followed by 80%

Of the Vietnam population, which finds no solace

In revenge, and encourages acceptance

Of different skin-tones and forgiveness?

Perhaps the improving economy

Moves the Vietnamese to a belief in a brighter future?

They hope for peace and good jobs.

I’m not ready to forgive my generation.

Revelation

One of the blessings of a mind going retro

Is the possibility of experiencing a belated moment of revelation,

When a mere fact suddenly becomes an established truth.

It happened during the Clarence Thomas hearings;

A parade of black witnesses were called,

And they all spoke English.

Not street cool, or a thousand “ya knows.”

They looked and sounded as though it was right and proper

For them to be witnesses at these dignified proceedings

And yes,  right and proper it was.

Angkor Wat

On some other day, an early morning mist,

Would add mystery and romance

To a scene of ruins

 Being devoured by a ravenous forest.

My first visit to Angkor Wat

Reveals a scene of prosperity

In the form of innumerable tourists,

Most from distant lands.

It is impossibly large, and if we accept

The proposed 35 years it took to build

Then we must consider the site

A temporary home for over 30,000 workers.

(Disney would certainly have added elephant rides,

Water adventures featuring monkeys

And the occasional water buffalo and crocodile.

100 food stops, with Mickey Mouse, completes the picture.)

I imagine the combination of heat, disease and mishaps

Would have decimated the ranks of construction workers.

Would those workers have willingly accepted death

As the price for the privilege of serving the king?

Canal

Where the one or two story and the striving mid-rise

Stand in a state of obsequious genuflection to the new kids,

Those confused high-rises of shape and colors that defy reason,

Merely wishing to strut a new dress in high heels.

Massage parlors, shoulders touching, squeeze

Between the car repair lot, the three story apartment building,

And the new status office or condominium behemoths.

Broken pieces of sidewalk attest to the confusion.

An infallible measure of optimism, cranes

Mark the transition that as yet appears tenuous,

As though the inevitable victory of "market forces"

Is not yet vouchsafed.

Bangkok is a city on the make.

Its brand of soft capitalism

Asks for seduction rather than domination,

Hoping her choices will allow for progress.

  

Cityscape

Where the one or two story and the striving mid-rise

Stand in a state of obsequious genuflection to the new kids,

Those confused high-rises of shape and colors that defy reason,

Merely wishing to strut a new dress in high heels.

Massage parlors, shoulders touching, squeeze

Between the car repair lot, the three story apartment building,

And the new status office or condominium behemoths.

Broken pieces of sidewalk attest to the confusion.

An infallible measure of optimism, cranes

Mark the transition that as yet appears tenuous,

As though the inevitable victory of "market forces"

Is not yet vouchsafed.

Bangkok is a city on the make.

Its brand of soft capitalism

Asks for seduction rather than domination,

Hoping her choices will allow for progress.

  

Downtown Hanoi

100 cars are scattered between 1,000 motorbikes

The driver, who peddles from behind my one-person carriage,

Is utterly unfazed by the motorized traffic inches from our destruction.

Pedestrians do not seem to recognize the demarcation

That separates safe walking space from no-mans-land.

Sidewalks are vehicular shortcuts, around plastic chairs

Where folks casually sit and down beers.

Every imaginable colored sign is prominent for a few feet:

The shoe store’s bright blue fluorescent is immediately replaced

By the jewelers hideous green, followed by a bleak coffee stand

Whose overhead yellow sign announces genuine American coffee.

A working woman, sits in the day's warmth,

Speaks with a fellow weaver, perhaps a sister-in-law,

Apparently utterly indifferent to yet another day's noise and air pollution,

While two young, smiling, Australian dudes check out the action.

There is little of the tension that characterizes Rome or New York.

Hanoi has seen so much war and death that

Older Vietnam residence may find the city confusing,

A manifestation of a normalcy that is far beyond their experience.

Twenty minutes into my ride I accepted my role.

My driver is my possession.

It was singularly appropriate that I would view the peasants

From my comfortable perch, and marvel at their silliness.

The Drone

If war is the answer, then the question

Becomes one of distance.

Killing has passed from confrontation

To aviation and now...computerization.

The woman assigned to the evening shift

Can dress casually, take off her shoes ,

And settle into her favorite music

While watching her large screen monitor.

Occasionally she might get a call,

Or beeping alert that overrides the music.

When the target number aligns with the target,

And video confirms, she will press the release button.

Then, if a video display confirms destruction,

She records the time,

And resumes viewing the changing screen

As the drone searches for its next target.

What's In A Name

Ace is a two-year-old with extraordinary language skills

And no idea how to throw, or even hold, a tennis ball.

She smiles and cries easily.

Her mood swings probably are inspired by her birth name, Alessia.

Yes, Alessia is the lovely name bestowed on my granddaughter,

Without due consideration for little boys

Who will be destroyed trying to pronounce the “e” and double  “ss”,

And likely hold her responsible for their failures.

Of course the truly embarrassing aspect of her

Charming Italian name is her grandfather’s panic

At the thought of mentioning her name in public.

At best, the odds are 50/50 I will fail at the “e”.

So let us rejoice in my selection of her nickname.

She doesn’t answer to it just yet,

But given Las Vegas is her place of birth,

And the ease of pronunciation, I’ll continue to call her Ace.

Avoidance

If my voice is too weak

I can blame my avoidance on

The likelihood I will not be heard.

I have surrounded myself with totems

That advise me on important matters.

Their sober faces reinforce my inclination to remain silent.

From the viewers’ stand

I can applaud my champions,

And vilify the opposition.

If I am not entirely comfortable with my abstention

I bear the self-accusation with the certain knowledge that

I could not have materially altered the outcome.

Unless, of course, …?

On The 15th We Turn On The Heat

It seems preordained, November 15^th we concede,

And start heating the house.

Most years we stop about March 31.

We live in a consistent, and persistent, climate.

I wonder what climate persisted

In the Garden of Eden?

Perhaps they had neither heat nor cold,

And, without rain, the garden stayed lush?

What happened to God’s garden after Adam and Eve left?

I imagine God would have maintained the garden,

Because he intended to have other residents.

In fact I suspect it was never intended for man only.

Eden must have been the most beautiful place on Earth,

Where all good and obedient creatures, and plants,

Would have lived in peace and plenty…

Except for that lousy snake.

Giving

Twice a year we would reach out

To the parents of those housed here.

As always the money was tight,

And rehab centers need more than benedictions.

Given that we were keeping their children

From jail, or the street, we expected help.

Saturday mornings were best for interviews,

Few parents were working or churching.

Orlando’s mother took two buses to get here.

A single, cleaning lady with two other children.

Orlando, one year into treatment, was still a turd,

Unwilling to give up his mask.

Broken for drugs and robbery,

He’d chosen to be here rather than prison.

I should tell his mom to save her $25.00 per month,

Her oldest child was a lousy investment.

Leroy Hayes was a different story.

His father ought to be grateful.

Leroy now ran the lawn-care crew,

Brought in money, and was a smart, good kid.

He’d chosen to enter treatment two years ago

And was likely to stay on as staff.

Dad, the banker, explained his inability to help out.

Two houses meant two mortgages. No cash left.

I was lucky, a board volunteer helping out.

I was not tasked with arm wrestling eighteen year-olds

Into changing their truly self-destructive script

For a shot at something better.

The Divide 2

I didn't tell her to have 4 kids,
Or live in a neighborhood where her 14 year-old son
Would get killed

Is it my fault her daughter's marriage,
Like her own would fall apart,
Bringing daughter and her 2 young kids
Back to momma's small apartment?

Did I ask her to be sole support of 7 people
Squeezed into that crummy apartment?
Sure, blame me, because she can't take a proffered promotion,
Because she'd lose her hourly overtime and have less take-home.

See needs the case now.

Why should I put my palm
Through the upright nail holder
To feel her pain?
None of it's my fault.

The Lost Hats

The Lost Hats           

I grew up before television

And recall a radio show titled “The Land of Lets Pretend”

Everything that had ever been lost

Was being collected in that far-off land.

My mother was concerned.

I continually lost earmuffs.

The good news: It was late March

And warmer weather meant no earmuffs.

My current problem, with its twenty-year history,

Concerns hats, especially baseball caps.

I lose baseball caps at a rate of one per month.

I am awaiting a thank you letter from the cap industry.

When my time on earth is done,

I hope to be united with all the garments I disappeared.

When I include shirts, jackets, socks, et al,

Total loses are estimated at 2, 456.

They will not be happy to see me in that far-off land.

It’s possible that someone has lost more things then I have,

But, I think, it is not very likely.

Surely, I will decimate their inventory.

The Great Sacrifice

Whether we reflect on the boy who saved Amsterdam,

By putting his finger in a small whole in the dike,

Or the soldier who fell on the grenade

And gave his life for his buddies, we recognize heroism.

What of the woman who refused to delay her vacation trip

Because her fool of a hairdresser did not have an opening

The day prior to our heroine’s flight?

The mind crashes attempting to grasp the whole gestalt.

She will be weeks without a “new do”.

Will her hair color hold or fade to blah?

How will her fans respond to this unprecedented breach?

New books, plays and operas will honor her deed.

Children will carry her name with head erect.

She has crashed through the slightly rose tinted social barrier.

Her great sacrifice will know no equal.

The Best Parking Space In the Western World

The Best Parking Space In the Western World              

Haven’t we all seen the TV drama?

Our protagonist drives straight into the parking space.

No backing in for him, or her; no sir!

No circling the block that allows the villain to flee.

I take adult education classes.

By way of respect there is a large parking lot,

Capable of accommodating 100 cars.

We are almost 300 students in search of parking.

Last Friday I must have saved the life of a small puppy,

Or offered a kind word to a stranger.

Do you suppose my St. Christopher medal helped?

How else to explain the miracle on 55^th Street?

Running late for class, I started the ritual.

I drove to the front row, where there are never any spaces.

Today was no exception… until the blue SUV started moving

Out of the best parking space in history!

This particular spot has never been witnessed as empty.

People come to this spot and pray, set up tents and genuflect

“May the owner of the car parked here need to leave right now.”

It never works, never… until this very moment.

It is a very wide space, perfectly aligned with the entrance door.

It has shade trees, and sits just steps from the crepe place.

I lower my head and swear to make a meaningful donation.

I consider skipping the class and subleasing this parking space.