20170224 (small-souled)

"Don't worry," said Dump. "You're a woman. I'll tell you what you think."

The petty and pusillanimous Dump,

Unwilling to consider his errors,

Goes through the day assured by a 

Retinue of yes-people that his

Lolling in waves of false praise

And his ignorant rages are all

Justified—nay more, admirable,

And in keeping with the finest of

Human thought and sentiment—

Unquestioned by none but the

Sore losers in politics and life

Who do so only out of jealousy

Of his success and achievement.

Betsy DeVos, a woman of whom

One might have imagined some 

Substance when reports had her

Refusing to support reversion of

The guidelines that allowed

Transgendered youngsters to 

Enjoy ordinary human comfort

In one of the most intimate of 

Bodily functions while in

School, caved at the suggestion

Of the attorney general that she

Could adhere to her principles

Or to her new cabinet position

But not both: “Throw the Transies

Under the bus. Get out or stay

With us,” might have been one 

Way for them to say it. Pushover--

That’s what you wanted and that’s

What you got. No heroes here but

Daddy Dump. Cue up the tough

Guys, congressmen home for the

Recess, eager to hear from their

Districts, their states, about how

Wonderfully they’re doing now

That a new administration’s at

Least partially in place. What? 

They won’t go to town halls to

Listen directly? Fearful of angry

Crowds who might start shooting.

They should have taken the 

Threat of "guns too easy to get"

More seriously. Look at Gabby

Giffords, they complain—half

Her brain gone and she counsels

Courage in the face of grizzlies—

Not much left for her to lose—

But we could be killed for 

Planning to eliminate care that

Saved some of their daughters,

Their moms. It’s almost as bad

As having to answer impertinent

Questions from an unruly press.

“We want only softballs from

Sycophants and cheering from

Toadies,” Sean Spicey chants.

“No soup for you, NYT, CNN and

Fellow travelers.” Do they at all

Realize how what’s not been sold

Of their integrity is being eaten 

By Dump’s dogs?

c. 2017, J.S.Manista

20170220 (horse)

Couldn't find a good image for "horsedrawn junk wagon" so I'm settling for
"priest and nun, 1950s."

“The most expensive thing you

Will ever do is sign your name, 

So you might as well learn how

To do it right,” Sister Camilla

Said, on practically my first day

Of grade one at Our Lady of 

Czestochowa Elementary 

School one drear September 

Day of 1949. To her knowledge

The good second generation

American Catholics of our

Little Polish enclave did not

Divorce so she couldn’t conceive

How saying “I do” would be 

More expensive than signing for

A mortgage. Mortgage? We had

No idea what she meant. Nor 

Had we any foreknowledge 

About the outcomes of our

Marital gambles. At that time

In our childhoods there were

Only four figures having roles

In our lives: Mom, Dad, the Sister

Who was our teacher at school,

And the “paper-ex” man, the 

Aged itinerant Jew who drove a 

Horse and wagon with large 

Wooden wheels, clickety-clacking

Down our brick street monthly

In good times and bad. What he

Was calling out was, “Paper, 

Rags,” but between the repetition

And his thick accent it came 

Out “paperegs,” or some phonetic

Variant. The allure for youngsters

Was the horse, of course, rather

Unkempt but shiny in some parts

Not covered by his specially

Devised raincoat for winter trips,

Or obscured by leather panels

Hanging off his harness in the 

Summers. He was so unlike the

Steeds of early television serials,

Hopalong Cassidy’s Topper or

Lone Ranger’s Silver, his face

Bore a look of long reservation

To his plight. Often, because of 

His blinders, he couldn’t see 

Us even when the driver gave 

Us some oats or carrot pieces to

Offer him while our moms 

Brought old clothes and bundled

Newspapers to the street for him

To throw on the wagon. Actually

The fourth figure was the horse

Not the man. Other than these

Were the various neighbors,

Aunts, uncles, milkman, postman

Who fleshed out supernumeraries

Of my early school age. However 

Central a figure he became later, 

In my early life, the priest was 

Only a vaguely tinted blur 

(Before they diagnosed my

Extreme myopia) moving about

The front of the church early 

Sunday mornings. I wish in

Many ways things would have

Stayed that way.

c. 2017, J.S.Manista

20170217 (shucking)

Ordinarily houses this close together, with sidewalks and porches, were by regulation to receive mail individually to receptacles mounted near each entrance door (remember mailboxes?).

Today mail even to tightly-sited new houses is placed in common "cluster boxes." You fetch and deliver home.

“No, you do it.” The sharp-pencilled

Guys are winning. They have

Categorized and computed the

Cost and value of every motion.

Who thought watching or reading

“Cheaper by the Dozen” a new

And somewhat terrifying world

Was underway? Frederick Winslow

Taylor, Frank and Lillian Gilbreth,

The masters of the “Efficiency

Movement” were effecting an 

Industrial revolution on the 

Workers themselves in their 

Quest to rid them of any and 

Every wasted effort. Their

Dream of deriving efficiency

Increases in human labor

Comparable to those stemming

From the use of machines was to

Yield better, cheaper goods 

And services with lower

Investments and higher profits.

Not only was it good, it 

Was good for you. Workers, 

They thought, would work

“Smarter not harder” and benefits

Would rain down upon both

Labor and Capital alike.

Well profits went up but the

Tasks were no easier. Generally

Reforms meant “speed-ups” 

Just as the unions complained.

Motions repeated with exacting

Precision stressed joints, tendons, 

And muscles which would

Not be relieved by occasional

Variations. So while metal parts

Could function endlessly in

Exactly the same fashion until

Fatigue introduced errors and

Ultimate failure meant stoppages,

Their human counterparts wore

Out much more quickly. Many 

Couldn't adapt. Injuries multiplied

As dissatisfaction mushroomed.

Thus grew employers' desire for

Machines over people (e.g., the 

Wannabe Secretary of Labor, 

Andrew Puzder, that is except for 

Virtually naked buxom women). 

They don’t tire, call-in sick, get

Pregnant (or sass or complain

To EEO we might add). Treating

People like machines leads to

Preferring real machines despite

People uniquely offering

Creativity, adaptability, and that

Customer service--congeniality.

But modern efficiencies are not

Extracted from employees alone.

Now customers get to pitch in:

Self-checkouts are one notable 

Example soon to be followed by

Volunteering to come in evenings

And Saturdays to stock shelves and 

Unload trucks. Same thing with 

No home delivery by the mailman.

Instead of him walking in the

Snow, rain, and gloom of night--

"No, you do it."

c. 2017,  J.S.Manista