Online Poems By Lawson Inada Essay Research

Online Poems By Lawson Inada Essay, Research Paper


Flying By The Seat

"We are flying by the seat

of our pants…" –Ken Weathersby

Which, when you think about it,

ain’t all that bad.

I mean, hey, it could be

"Seating by the fly of our pants"!

Right! Besides, the Planet Herself

sings something similar:

"Flying By The Heat Of The Dance"!

And you pretty much gotta trust Her,

even if that means twiddling your thumbs

while she makes Her way through Her medley–

part lounge-act, part hootenanny–

featuring them "old chestnuts" like

"I’m An Old Cowhand (From The Rio Grande)"

"Row, Row, Row Your Boat (Row, Row, Row)"

"Old MacDonald Had A Farm (E-I-E-I-O)"

along with a latin-beat arrangement

of "Turkey In The Straw"

and even a rappish "Over The Rainbow"

before windin’ down to ballad renditions

of "Comin’ Round The Mountain" segueing

cleverly to "I Left My Heart In San Francisco"

where of course we get "Sunrise, Sunset"…

Then, if the mood is right, She kicks in

an encore, scattin’ up tempo to the changes

of (what did you expect?) Fly Me To The Moon"!

A grand time was had, is had, by all:

"Flying by the seat of our pants"!

Eatin’ With Sticks

When you think about it,

eatin’ with ’sticks

is the natural thing to do;

that is, without getting all

sociological about it,

it makes logical sense

to handle your food

with these smooth extensions

of your fleshy fingers–

that way, the hot

is truly cool,

bit by bit making its way

south to your mouth

as you choose

what you chews,

chowing down on, say,

succulent shoots of bamboo

with sticks of bamboo

as you come full circle

in the ecological

sense of things

which makes good sense

and shouldn’t

bamboozle any bambino

with a lick of sense,

a lick of taste,

and elders demonstrating

the social, logical value

of a world not to waste,

slash, stab at random,

not to just scoop around

like so many grains

of surplus and plenty.

Moreover, ’sticks

are never alone–

as in "sticks together"–

as they are paired together

like the very stereo

parts of the body–

arms, hands, legs, feet,

ears, eyes, molars,

nostrils of the nose,

with all of those

working together ricely,

in sync, as we eat…

But wait–What’s missing?

Right–a whole person

does not a society make…

Thus, as any unshaven sage

in a mountain hermitage

will instruct you:

"Man, you need a bowl, baby!"

Which is to say:

"You can’t go it alone!"

And even a hermit

wouldn’t be here

if it weren’t for

’sticks and bowls,

the whole enchilada

of Yin and Yang,

of boys and girls,

of what makes the world

worth sitting down with

wherever you are,

blessing the bowl

of food, community,

collective memory,

creative hermitage,

the grains, the noodles

that wouldn’t have it

any other way:

"Eat us with sticks!"

Somebody’s Been Messing With My Money!

Somebody’s been messing with my money!

You heard me!

Somebody’s been messing with my money!

Somebody’s been taking my hard-earned salary

and sticking it all over their sticky bodies!

Somebody’s been defacing my currency!

Somebody’s been mutilating my labor!

Somebody’s been abusing my country!

I’m sure it’s you! Who else could it be?

Somebody’s been crumpling the stuff up!

Somebody’s been throwing the stuff down!

Somebody’s been licking on it,

spitting on it, chewing on it,

spilling on it, stepping on it,

crying on it, bleeding on it!

I’m sure it’s you! You unknown commodity!

Come payday, I’m heading down to the mint!

I want all my money clean and fresh and new!

I refuse to be part of your filthy economy!

Somebody’s been messing with my money!


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