20160601 (Harambe)

Koko has learned much of sign language and has taught her teachers some of her own.

When I read of the killing of 

Harambe, the magnificent,

Four hundred and fifty pound

Silverback gorilla, at the zoo

In Cincinnati to prevent his

Harming a little boy who’d

Wriggled his way into the 

Gorilla cage I immediately

Thought of some lines I wrote

For a poem that discussed a

Comparable situation. The

Theme was a meditation on 

The problem of evil, and I

Used an example I’d heard:

A man in Florida once took

His little tad to see the zoo

There lost him to the reptile pit

Where nature red in tooth and claw

Mistook him for an early meal

Not Solomon in all his wit

Could tell him wrest or stay his hand

To save that screaming mangled lad

From crushing of primeval maw

As father fought survival’s law

(In Memory of Evan Rhys, c. 1986)

There have been instances where

Gorillas in zoos have come upon

Youngsters who fall into the lair

And the animal takes the child

Up in a cradling hold and places

Them at the cage door then moves

Away as if to say, “I think this is

One of yours. Come get it while

I stand aside.” Sounds too good to

Be true, but zookeepers swear such

Events have happened within

Recent memory. I sympathize with

The actions of the Dangerous 

Animal Response Team who 

Had to kill Harambe. Watching 

The video of the scene is very

Disturbing and not just because

Of the danger to the child but also

Of our age’s growing empathy

With animal life, particularly

The that of those nearest us in

Phylogenetic order. We have

Seen Jane Goodall work with

Her gorillas. We have watched

Videos of Koko signing and 

Inventing signs of her own.

We have this extraordinary

Affinity with mammals of all

Kinds, particularly cats and

Dogs. We sleep with them

And share our food with them

As I just did an hour earlier

When stripping a chicken carcass

To put meat in some soup, I 

Cut off a smidge and let Loki

Eat it from my hand. I for one

Am troubled by zoos, as are so

Many more, by the captivity

Essential to their existence.

Zoo directors may seek to make

The cage more like the victim’s

Habitat, but however large or

Realistic they get, it’s still 

Captivity. As for the child

Whose mother may clearly

Be negligent, as for the zoo

Whose cage was designed to

Keep gorillas in, not children

Out, discourse in the courts

Will determine. As for Harambe,

Though I concur in the killing,

His death signals us his

Captivity was the wrong.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016

20160531 (pray for another)

College security officer snaps pic of student praying over homeless man in Baltimore

I’m supposed to pray for a guy

To get a job. Knowing what I 

Know about how the economy

Works and a little from college

Level theology, I wonder if it’s

Worth the effort. Several years

Ago I volunteered with the Men’s

Shelter at 2100 Lakeside to help

Guys there write resumes for

Jobs advertised in newspapers

(Still around at the time). I

Discovered I wasn’t any help

At all. As for computer skills

They knew more than I did.

And as for good resumes,

There was no point. Once 

You got down to explaining

Why you can’t account for 

Three-to-five years of your

Employment history was 

There really any hope of

Getting a job? People I knew 

With fair employment histories

Who had just been “downsized”

Weren’t getting any indications

Their resumes had been received

Much less interview offers. So

They came to the computer room

To surf for leads. There never

Were any jobs that sought their

Talents in writing—mostly

“Apply in person—talk to Bob.”

The jobs they did get were from 

Wandering the streets where a

Diner or bar might have a paper 

Sign in the window, “hiring

Washers, cooks part time.” 

For maybe a week at a time

To cover a regular’s vacation—

Then you’re out of luck until 

You find another one. Even if 

They were good as gold, still

Nothing lasted. They couldn’t

Earn enough to make rent much

Less put up a security deposit.

Or they’d work for a place and

One day they showed up and it 

Was closed. They knew they 

Weren’t going to be paid, which

Is why they often asked for their

Pay daily. I couldn’t keep my

Own spirit up. How was I to 

Be any help to them? In a few

Weeks my last job  asked me

To come back. I’d have an

Unpredictable schedule, I’d

Have to travel out of state,

Sleep overnight in a shared

Room with another worker.

I talked to the staff assigner

And delivered my very short

Notice. Had it not been merely

To supplement my pension

I couldn’t afford to take it. My

Homeless guys would have 

Killed to have regular work.

I took care not to tell them 

When I left. Yeah, I’ll pray

For him to get a job—God

Might surprise the two of us.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016                                                            

20160530 (deception)

Iraq and Afghanistan medals for sale by Sgt. Trevor Coult, British war protestor

Tomas Young, Iraq and Afghanistan veteran and American war protestor who was paralyzed, suffered, and died at age 34.  Remembered with honor in documentary Body of War, by Ellen Spiro and Phil Donohue.

Pacifists do not dishonor the dead

Nor mock the injuries of the veterans

Who return. But they cannot in good

Conscience celebrate the sacrifice

And join with those who must

Make sense of their deaths and

Suffering. None would tell a 

Mother, a father their child died

In vain even if the death only

Underscores the perversity of

War, the stubborn stupidity of

Prideful kings, callous politicians.

Why do they not, these parents

Of the mutilated and slain, rise

Up against those who led their

Children into “harm’s way” as 

It is now so euphemistically

Titled? No military leader ever

Proclaimed, “We will take your

Sons and daughters and return

Them to you as ground meat

In tidy green plastic bags if

We find enough of them to

Label accurately.” No supporting

Legislator has been heard to

Say, “The war we voted for

Today will be horrifyingly

Long, expensive beyond our

Ability to pay. It will render

Us savages, more barbaric

Than any in history has been

One to another. You will refuse

To know the criminality we 

Told them to do and that they 

Did. When they return you, 

You will not recognize nor 

Welcome them in your homes

With their broken minds, their

Eyes forever staring past you.” 

News of those days did not say,

“Weep, mothers, for yourselves,

Your families. Prepare a space 

On your mantles for boxes of 

Medals to place beside their 

Portraits. The strong young 

You send away today, if they

Come back at all, will return as 

Ghosts, wracked with holy

Pain, inconsolable sorrow

For what they were taught to

Do and did to save themselves,

Their friends from what another

Mother’s son thought to do,

Their idea of national pride,

Some murderous act of valor.

Each death we mete out,

Each death we absorb, each

One rendered as if shoved

Through some maniacal

Processor for foolish lies

Mouthed above their graves

Because none has the courage

To speak the truth.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016