Behind the Headlines
“Okinawa in Turmoil
In Airman Rape Case”
That’s the headline
The reality?
Twenty protesters gather
at the air base’s front gate
shout slogans,
shake fists,
then hop the bus and stop
for burgers at McDonald’s.
Politicians in Naha
do the dance of the outraged
and make plans for more
Gomen money from Tokyo.
Maybe they’ll use it
to pave another road to nowhere.
My neighbor, Eizo,
descended from kings,
walks into Paul’s pad,
outraged.
Outraged the gaijins
who rent his cabins
don’t appreciate his favorite beer.
“Budweiser number one!
Budweiser ichiban!”
he shouts.
Paul, an Irishman from London, laughs.
“Bud number ten!” he shouts
and offers the King of Iha,
standing there barefoot in a white
tee-shirt and blue work pants,
his glass of Guinness.
“Slante,’” Paul toasts. “Drink this.”
“No, no,” Eizo laughs. “No good.”
They compromise with glasses
of Okinawa awamori over ice.
Another international dispute settled.
“Okinawa in Turmoil
In Airman Rape Case”
That’s the headline
The reality?
Twenty protesters gather
at the air base’s front gate
shout slogans,
shake fists,
then hop the bus and stop
for burgers at McDonald’s.
Politicians in Naha
do the dance of the outraged
and make plans for more
Gomen money from Tokyo.
Maybe they’ll use it
to pave another road to nowhere.
My neighbor, Eizo,
descended from kings,
walks into Paul’s pad,
outraged.
Outraged the gaijins
who rent his cabins
don’t appreciate his favorite beer.
“Budweiser number one!
Budweiser ichiban!”
he shouts.
Paul, an Irishman from London, laughs.
“Bud number ten!” he shouts
and offers the King of Iha,
standing there barefoot in a white
tee-shirt and blue work pants,
his glass of Guinness.
“Slante,’” Paul toasts. “Drink this.”
“No, no,” Eizo laughs. “No good.”
They compromise with glasses
of Okinawa awamori over ice.
Another international dispute settled.
Black Robes
The black robed judges
sit above the fray
nodding knowingly
when salient points are made,
intellectually pulling
the smallest minutia
of testimony apart
to seek the truth
hiding inside,
gently cautioning the lawyers
when they stray too far
from the facts and wander
into the realm of fantasy.
Even if fantasy is the truth
The black robed judges
sit above the fray
nodding knowingly
when salient points are made,
intellectually pulling
the smallest minutia
of testimony apart
to seek the truth
hiding inside,
gently cautioning the lawyers
when they stray too far
from the facts and wander
into the realm of fantasy.
Even if fantasy is the truth
Caught With His Gland
In Her Cookie Jar
The crime lab tech said
there was no doubt
the DNA from the defendant’s
saliva matched DNA
from sperm samples collected
at two rape scenes.
“There’s just one chance
in 4.8 billion it could have
been someone else,” he said.
The accused hung his head.
It sucks when
your own body
rats you out.
In Her Cookie Jar
The crime lab tech said
there was no doubt
the DNA from the defendant’s
saliva matched DNA
from sperm samples collected
at two rape scenes.
“There’s just one chance
in 4.8 billion it could have
been someone else,” he said.
The accused hung his head.
It sucks when
your own body
rats you out.
Daily News
No news today
I’m on vacation;
slept late,
no daily work routine,
no papers to read,
no e-mail to answer,
no radio, TV or
internet news reports
to slog through.
I’m free.
Until the cell phone rings.
An editor from a thousand
miles away says something
big happened today,
can I drop the nothing
I am doing and log-on?
Make some phone calls?
Get some reaction,
find some local color,
something new to feed
the copy beast?
Can I crank out
something for the
next news cycle?
Sure, I say
what the hell,
maybe nothing
will happen
tomorrow.
No news today
I’m on vacation;
slept late,
no daily work routine,
no papers to read,
no e-mail to answer,
no radio, TV or
internet news reports
to slog through.
I’m free.
Until the cell phone rings.
An editor from a thousand
miles away says something
big happened today,
can I drop the nothing
I am doing and log-on?
Make some phone calls?
Get some reaction,
find some local color,
something new to feed
the copy beast?
Can I crank out
something for the
next news cycle?
Sure, I say
what the hell,
maybe nothing
will happen
tomorrow.
Dammit David
“Got a comment?”
I asked the Public Affairs Officer.
“When’s your deadline?” he asked.
“Three hours,” I said.
“Dammit,” he replied.
“How do you spell that?” I asked.
“D-A-V-I-D.”
“Got a comment?”
I asked the Public Affairs Officer.
“When’s your deadline?” he asked.
“Three hours,” I said.
“Dammit,” he replied.
“How do you spell that?” I asked.
“D-A-V-I-D.”
He Lost His Limp
On the first day of school
Mr. Jones was absent,
making his appearance instead
in a Japanese courtroom.
When the judge gestured
for him to take the stand,
Jones slowly rose from the bench
in front of the defense table
and limped to the witness podium,
hunched over, a grimace
punctuating his oath
to tell the truth.
Jones explained that the pot
plant seized by police in his yard
was for medicinal use,
to ease the pain caused
by a severe spinal injury
suffered in a parachute accident
when he was a young soldier.
“Does it help the pain?”
the judge asked
through an interpreter.
“No, but it helps me forget it,”
Jones answered.
He said he obtained the seeds
from bird feed and planted
the hemp in his backyard,
where his wife never went.
The Japanese translator kept
using the term “aspirating hemp” for
growing and smoking marijuana,
but no one seemed to mind.
Jones’ wife, also a teacher,
testified she had never seen
him smoke the drug
(I wanted to laugh, remembering
them both inhaling another friends’
aspirations at an uncomfortable
gathering).
She testified she would watch
her husband like a child
to ensure he would refrain
from aspirating hemp again.
The judge, sternly sentenced
Jones to a suspended sentence
and said he was free to go.
Jones lost his limp
as he left the courtroom.
On the first day of school
Mr. Jones was absent,
making his appearance instead
in a Japanese courtroom.
When the judge gestured
for him to take the stand,
Jones slowly rose from the bench
in front of the defense table
and limped to the witness podium,
hunched over, a grimace
punctuating his oath
to tell the truth.
Jones explained that the pot
plant seized by police in his yard
was for medicinal use,
to ease the pain caused
by a severe spinal injury
suffered in a parachute accident
when he was a young soldier.
“Does it help the pain?”
the judge asked
through an interpreter.
“No, but it helps me forget it,”
Jones answered.
He said he obtained the seeds
from bird feed and planted
the hemp in his backyard,
where his wife never went.
The Japanese translator kept
using the term “aspirating hemp” for
growing and smoking marijuana,
but no one seemed to mind.
Jones’ wife, also a teacher,
testified she had never seen
him smoke the drug
(I wanted to laugh, remembering
them both inhaling another friends’
aspirations at an uncomfortable
gathering).
She testified she would watch
her husband like a child
to ensure he would refrain
from aspirating hemp again.
The judge, sternly sentenced
Jones to a suspended sentence
and said he was free to go.
Jones lost his limp
as he left the courtroom.
Good to see you! Well, here we are again, another late -- really late -- issue of the EWC. Blame it on my job. I am a journalist in Japan and enjoying the hell out of living on Okinawa. I'm also a champion procrastinator. I do well when I have a deadline, but I suck when there's no timetable. I promise to get better. I specialize in covering crime, the courts and politics here. I've been covering crime ever since I started working full-time for newspapers back in 1974. I love the personal drama. Much of what I observe eventually makes its way into my poems. Here's a sample. Enjoy! |
| "The Story So Far" |
| A Brief Love Poem: Her Legs Her legs go all the way up. That’s all you need to know. |
 | |  | |  | |  |
David Allen