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.