20161130 (cross-cultural)

US Army officer sets fire to hut in suspected Viet Cong stronghold 

What’s a house? For some a dry

Cardboard large appliance box under

An overpass will do. Others cannot

Manage unless the stable shelters

At least one horse. If we all had to

Live in the same house type what

Would be the minima? Separate

Bedroom? Bathroom? Kitchen?

Ceiling high enough to allow

Comfortable standing? Cabinets?

Closets? Looking at the “Tiny

House” movement doesn’t settle

The matter. There’s lots of variety

In what some consider necessary

As well as what is tiny. People

Have been known to camp—

Some in tents, some in cabins.

At my age staying in an air-

Conditioned motel suite with

Cooking facilities is about the

Least I’ll tolerate for camping—

And no more than a week at a time.

Crossing the Alps beside Hannibal 

With a sheepskin to shield me from

The snow has long ago lost its

Appeal. Sorry, Caesar, et alii. 

It hasn’t been all that long 

Since our ancestors lived daily

Without the indoor plumbing 

That brought fresh household 

Water and a warm place to poop.

Funny how quickly we acclimate

(Great word choice) to things like

A/C, power windows, GPS, and

Internet. “I want my instant

Gratification, and I want it now!

Watching a film like Slumdog 

Millionaire quickly reminds us 

Of how many of humanity still

Struggle for basics we take for 

Granted. Yet we are nowhere

Near the spectral extreme of 

Wealth. I think back to watching

The Viet Cong wearing black

Loincloths while defending the

Thatched huts that were the

Homes of the people. American 

Soldiers shooting at them as 

If across a cultural divide would

Soon be returning (if they were 

Lucky) to homes considerably

More comfortable—lavish if not

Palatial by comparison. The same

Is true today in Afghanistan, Iraq,

Syria, Yemen, Somolia, and wherever

Else the military sends its Special

Forces. These combatants do not

Live in the same world. Can either 

One understand for what the other 

Is fighting? Thatched huts and 

Molded mud rooms have nothing

In common with split-level ranches

And frost-free refrigerators. Nobody

Should be killing someone they 

Can’t possibly understand.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016

20161128 (women)

I remember, "Make Love, not war"

Today the CODEPINK ladies

Mailed me a bumper sticker that

Brought me back to the ‘60s.

Garish and brash, unmistakeably

Outfront, like themselves as

Antiwar activists, it’ll appear

On the bumper of my stately

Maroon sedan only if I can

Convince myself the tiny pink

Placard will not utterly undo

The seriousness of the Romanly

Aristocratic purple. But 

Hasn’t that been my problem 

Throughout—the schizoid 

Cassandra, warning of the 

Coming doom but smirking

All the while, eager to get in

Just one more laugh before

The heavens fall?  I admire

The CODEPINK activists,

Not all of whom are ladies

Though mostly, but because

Of one Medea Benjamin who 

Has many more than once 

Confronted the powerful in

Washington and the world. I 

Recall hearing of her ringing

The home doorbell of John

Brennan, Director of the CIA,

To accost him on his porch

About illegal drone killing

Directly to his face. She is

Diminutive. What a Davidine 

And Goliath image it would

Have been had they gotten it

On video! How gloriously apt!

A petite figure (a woman

Yet) how characteristically 

Powerless standing up to one

Of the most powerful people

In the government, someone

Who could have her morally

Upright and pink-sweatered

Body tossed summarily into

The Potomac one night but for

Her notoriously staunch and

Adamant opposition. It would

Be like carting off the Washington

Monument—as big a project

And as noticeable. I was with them

In March of 2011 when a batch 

Of lefties gathered in the District

To protest continuation of the wars. 

As far as I’m concerned they’re

On the right side of history: against

Dump for the obvious ignorance, 

Racism, xenophobia, misogyny, 

And domination by the Bratbart 

Ultra-Right; against Clinton for 

Her kowtowing to Israel’s facsists,

Wall Street’s money, and her

Unwillingness to shed her

Conflicted Foundation. They’re 

For BDS, against weapons to the

Saudis, for justice for Palestine, for 

A local peace economy, against

Militarized police, and unlike so 

Many men in our government—

They’ve got balls. It’ll be on 

My bumper tomorrow. 

c. J.S.Manista, 2016

20161124 (pull-push)

Beauty . . . 

. . . beast

Not so many as a surfeit or 

Plethora this section of the U.S.

Northwest is rife with inlets

(Fjords), lakes, and islands 

Offering an abundance of 

Waterfront (and waterview)

Property far more so than the

Relatively straight lakeshore

Of my former digs, Cleveland,

OH. Whether that drives down

The cost of the always-pricier

“Land with Water View” more

So than could be asked back 

East is debatable. The ratio of

Beach-hungry in Cleveland is,

I’d guess, lower than those

Who move here hoping for a

Wilderness experience before

Population, migration, and

Commercial growth erase its

Primeval allure. I visited Seattle

For an adoption conference one

Late August in the ’70s. Skies

Were an unblemished blue four

Days in a row. The day we left the

Sky had turned concrete-block

Gray. The morning fog became

Mist which grew to droplets 

And we departed in a downpour. 

Residents had told us, “Don’t tell

Outsiders we have these good days.

They’ll come trample us underfoot."

Who would blame Seattleites 

For protecting their turf? Who 

would share paradise with packs

Of noisy litterers? The Bay area

Is overrun with immigrants, the

Brightest of the nerds driving

Rents to the stratosphere. The 

Rain here has kept up for three

Days, and though slivers of

Blue can be seen at the limits

Of the cloud layers, the sky 

Overhead has been uniformly

Gloomy. It’s hard to tell when

The rain’s stopped because the 

Second rain—dropping from

The trees can—go on for days

Unless some great Maytag of 

A wind dries the all-day dew.

From my slight travels the local

Economy still depends on farms

And fishes, neither of which can

Support extraordinary growth

So residents needn’t fear being

Inundated more by people than

H20. Raincoats, umbrellas, and

Tanning booths share a steady

Market with SAD lamps (seasonal

Affective disorder); not much need

For sunglasses. My son tells me

Summer helps: it runs from 

July 5th to Labor Day.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016