20151217 (impermanence)

Too much is forgiven, forgotten

With the trope “The pendulum

Swings,” excusing excesses of

Earlier times with compensating

Excesses of the future. This

Hegelian concept of history

Necessarily developing only 

By brushes with the madness

Of an age’s spirit exonerates

Criminals, lauds maniacs, and

Barely notes the middle 

Ground where for centuries

Justice and wisdom lay, seen

Only as a blur, whizzing past.

Thus are moderates condemned

By their caution, linked in error

With the errors of their fathers.

Our parents, we thought, 

Were too inhibited in every 

Regard, frightful of change, 

New thought, new people, 

New food for that matter. 

We, unlearned of economic 

Collapse—the Depression—

Grew fat and comfortable

With the seemingly unlimited

Postwar recovery. We 

Did not remember fathers,

Ripped from families,

Attempting to sell apples

On the street to each other.

Our earliest memories 

Were of uninterrupted

Progress, of workers 

Occasionally complaining

About too much mandated 

Overtime that prevented

Prompt spending all the wages

They were earning. If only 

We had experienced the 

Transition, we would have

Been more sober about

Assurances of traders, employers,

sellers. But the times were 

Too kind to us. Delirious

With our good fortune, we

Thought it our due, rarely 

Saw the many forgotten, 

Non-unionized hotel workers,

Small family farmers, migrant

Laborers in the subbasement

Of the economy crushed by

The gear works of desperation. 

Some we were told to fear. 

Blacks emerging from tenancy

Of the old south come to 

Take northern jobs—our

Better jobs—based on what—

Their desire to be equal. Still

Expanding, the nation absorbed

Them until it had to compete

With the offshore wretched 

Of the earth, the unwashed who

Earned pennies to our dollars.

The rich saw their chance to 

Pull down the safety net,

Remove their “unfair” tax 

Burden, the “giveaways” of the 

War on poverty. Swooning in 

Stupor with our relative wealth 

We may not have seen the

Pendulum’s return, numbed 

Made no effort to stop it 

Midstroke.

c. J.S. Manista, 2015