Visitors from Japan

Seeking confirmation of a “known truth”
Does not always prepare you for a better question.

We visited twenty-first century Tokyo last night.
Guests of the State Department,
Three men and a woman all young enough
To recognize the value of an atheist education,
Old enough to have lived with the detritus of war
And the thousand years of history
That Japan has experienced in the last sixty.

No apologies for wars started or bombs dropped,
No defensive postures.
Yesterday did not happen on our watch, ...
But today?

We did not discover the meaning of life.
But occasionally a good question surfaced,
Tossed into cultural seas
That allowed for respect, if not resolution.

One guest posited
“Having worshipped a living God,
Found him insufficient for the time,
Suffered the devastation that losing a war brings...
Lessons learned,
We resorted to rationality...
And a drive for economic parity.”

At evenings end had we seen each other?
Maybe.

Blink

Dean Rusk said “Russia Blinked”.
But I’m not sure what to think.
Blinking, we are told
Shows we’re not being bold.

Russia , when it sees us blink,
Assumes the U.S.will slink
Away from the big bad bear,
Look to hide, show our fear.

Moscow will attack with Nuclear teeth,
Rip us apart, make us their feast.

But what if the blink
Were merely a wink
And war could be averted?
If only they knew we had merely flirted.

We must guard against a blink and a wink,
Since either could wash us down the sink.
We’ll wait for them to make the mistake
Just one blink may be all it will take.

Black

I am pissed at labels.
I’m sixth generation American,
But stats say you’re fourth generation,
Does this make me more American?

D.A.R. stopped counting generations
Either you go back to 1776 or you don’t.
I don’t, but I’ll not be an African American.
Ever meet a European American?

If you need to reject me try chocolate, tan or brown.
My friend from South Africa, a white Jew,
Is an African American.

Isn’t it time to stop being exotic?
I’m not Nat Turner or Martin Luther King,
Your not Abe Lincoln or Alexander.

I’d like a shot at the brass ring,
Not your wife.

Our Turn

Challenges without number
Rise as an ocean swell,
Force children from their slumber
Into a world they don’t know well.

Strangers in a strange land
Where moderation holds no sway,
Wanting for a knowing hand,
Find life’s journey a hapless way.

My generation, and those now past,
Succumbed to Mammon’s notion:
All will be well if we just hold fast,
Praying the Earth devoid of motion.

But the Earth has moved,
In obeisance to the Sun,
Its path a reprove,
To the belief that nothing ‘ere be done.

Do we assume too much
When we grieve for the next generation?
We are the ones fate will touch,
With naught to offer in exculpation.

Does it not seem right
That we should pay ?
For choking the sun, hiding the light,
Making night the owner of day?

Dedicated Benches

My small neighborhood park has 6 benches, all dedicated.
All, all save one, carry the names of family members.
Harry Oberman, who delivered milk for 30 year,
Is remembered as “Friend and Neighbor”.
He must have been a good guy.

Conspicuous among family plaques is one honoring Melvina Watts Hoffner,
Whose first marrige produced three children, their names are inscribed
“In Loving Memory”.
One of those names carries it’s own honorific,
James J. Watts, M.D.

Was the good doctor simply bragging?
Perhaps it was a professional listing,
Or a reminder to his deceased mother
That he did indeed finish medical school.