Third World Construction

Some of many things
The Third World
Typically lacks
When it comes to
Building and construction
Are rigid design
And installation standards
And effective
Quality control inspections
To ensure that
The standards
Are followed.
Architects and contractors
Cut corners
Whenever and wherever
They can to save money.
Sometimes out of
Sheer incompetence,
But often due to
Flagrant corruption,
Serious and potentially
Dangerous flaws
Get constructed into
Structures being built
That could easily
Have been caught
If inspectors were
Doing their jobs.
As a result, structural failures
And electrical fires
Are fairly common,
And construction
In general
Is often far below
Internationally recognized
Standards.
A prime example of
The hazards involved
Is the death toll
And the damage
That occurred
As a result of
The earthquake that struck
Port O Prince, Haiti.
Hundreds of thousands
Died as a result
Structures collapsing.
The only structure
Left relatively undamaged
Was the US Embassy
Which had been constructed
To US seismic standards.
Interestingly enough,
A much more powerful
Earthquake struck Chile
Shortly after the
Earthquake in Haiti,
But the latter resulted
In very little death
Or construction
Because seismic standards
Had been implemented.

The Project Manager from Hell

She is a nightmare
To work for,
As anyone who has had
The misfortune
Of being assigned to
One of her
Design projects
Can testify.
She treats subordinates
As if they are
Imbeciles instead of
As trained professionals,
And finds fault with
Almost every task done.
Whenever things go wrong,
Or redesign is necessary,
It is always the fault of
The idiots who work for her.
The truth is that
Most of the issues
Are the result of
Her own incompetence
And mismanagement.
She demands
Sacrificial overtime hours
Knowing full well
That everyone is salaried,
Thus are not compensated
For any overtime spent.
To ensure that everyone
Is maxed out on overtime,
She schedules
Frequent frivolous
Day long meetings
Forcing people to work overtime
To get the work done.
The company
Loves her though,
Even though her projects
Are difficult to staff,
For the company happily
Bills the client extra
For all the overtime spent,
Making her projects
Extremely profitable.

An Outcast's Perspective

He works the streets
Of the city,
Scrounging out a living
Begging for change
And dumpster diving
To collect
Bottles and cans
Which can be sold
To the recyclers.
His clothes are
Torn and tattered,
And he smells like
He hadn't taken
Taken a bath
Or a shower
For several months.
He has been living
On the streets
Without a shelter
Over his head
For eight to ten years,
Except for
Occasional brief stints
In the city jail
On charges of trespassing
Or disorderly conduct.
He survives on
Discarded food
Fished out of
Garbage cans
Supplemented by
Occasional meals
At one of the local
Soup kitchens.
Though his hardships
Are obvious,
He ironically
Views himself
As wining at
The game of life.
He takes pride
In the fact that
He can survive
Without working
A traditional job
Like normal people do.
He has a sense of freedom,
Of not being
Encumbered by possessions.
The only possession
He has besides the clothes
On his back
Is a shopping cart
From a local supermarket.
He thinks of himself
As self-sufficient.
What little he needs
In life
Can all be found
In a dumpster.
He sees himself as a rebel,
An outcast
Thumbing his nose
At society,
And in a perverse way
He is proud of
The life he lives.

Corporate Bastard

He is a good old boy,
Married to corporate life
With three bitter divorces
To show for it,
And a fourth on the way.
Work was his refuge
From the failures of his life,
And also his identity.
He had risen through the ranks,
Almost to the top,
And he felt and acted like
He owned the place.
He demanded nothing less
Than total dedication
From all who worked under him
And expected them
To willingly make
The same sacrifices
He had made in his life.
It was obvious that he felt
Woman were not cut out
For corporate life.
He justified his open hostility
To them by noting
How many of them
He had observed
Forsake their careers
For family life .
He saw woman as
Flaky and unreliable
And treated then accordingly,
And as far as he
Is concerned,
They have been
The ruin of many good men,
Men just like himself
Who knew where
To place their priorities.

Introduction to the Barracuda

“Don't let her appearance
Fool you!” I was told.
“She can be ruthless
When she wants to be,
Especially if someone
Crosses her path,
Or tries to waste her time
With stupid questions.
She doesn't take kindly
To air-headed idiots.
She is a smart cookie,
And obviously knows
What she is doing,
And what she wants.
You be straight with her
And she will be
Straight with you as well,
But if you try
To feed her
A line of bullshit,
She'll see through it
In a nanosecond,
And is liable to
Bite your head off.
She has a knack
For cutting a man
Down to size
Who gets in her way
And butchering him alive
With her words.
If provoked,
She can and will
Extract blood
With her tongue.
She will cut you to shreds
Without hesitation
If you are anything
Less than candid with her.”
Then her informative assistant
Smiled and said,
“So go on in and try to sell her
On what you've got!”

City Slicker

Rick was born
And grew up
In the city,
And was used to
The hustle bustle
Of all kinds of people
Coming and going,
Frantically trying
Trying to get
Someplace quick.
He was single,
And had a small,
But relatively expensive,
Studio apartment
Conveniently located
A couple blocks
From his office,
In the heart of
The downtown area.
Rick walked to work,
And had a choice of
More than a hundred
Different restaurants
Within a ten minutes
Of his place.
It was also within
Walking distance
Of the university
Where he graduated,
And was surrounded by
Theaters, parks, museums
Hotels, fitness centers
Singles bars and discos,
As well as a healthy mix
Of high and low end
Shopping areas.
The area was trendy
And fashionable,
Populated by people
From almost every
Conceivable ethnic persuasion.
He was used to hearing
Six or ten different languages
During the course of a day,
Which added flavor
And an exotic mysticism
To his daily routine.
Public transit was available
All hours of the day,
Perfect for a city
And a young man
On the move.
He thrived on the noise
And the chaos,
And couldn't imagine
Living any other way
Then the way he was.
Life in the suburbs
Was not even in the realm
Of possibilities.
Life in the countryside
Was unimaginable.
His life consisted of
Work, working out,
Eating out, and socializing
Amidst fitful bouts of sleep.
He had occasional thoughts
Of finding someone
To share life with,
But he was having
Too much fun being single
To give that idea
Serious consideration.
Besides, he was still young,
Just twenty-seven years old,
And wasn't really ready
To get tied down yet.
He had had several
Possible encounters with fate
But they hadn't worked out,
Much to his mother's chagrin.
He kept slim and trim,
Unlike his friends
Who had gotten married.
He worked out at the gym
Four or five times a week,
And played basketball,
Baseball and football regularly,
Depending on the season.
On weekends
He frequented the jogging trails,
Often running for miles
Along the trails and parks
That magically intertwined
Throughout the city.
His pad was decorated
For comfort and style,
Elegant but practical.
Fancy enough
To impress almost anyone
If he chose to invite them,
Yet few had witnessed
That side of him.
He actually was
A fairly decent cook,
But never liked
Cooking for himself,
So he almost always ate out.
He preferred adventuresome
Ethnic fare
As oppose to fast food
And regular American cuisine.
He liked Thai and Indian food,
Greek and Persian delicacies,
Italian ice cream
And sushi restaurants.
He liked eating in
European style
Outdoor cafes
Where he could sit
For hours and hours
Watching people
As they walked by.
His life style
Afforded him
Both the time
And the opportunity
To contemplate
The world around him.
Sometimes he would
Drop in on
Poetry readings
Or go places where
Live music was
Being performed.
Though there were
Museums were all around,
He seldom, if ever, went.
They just weren't
His “cup of tea!”
Like everyone else,
He cursed the traffic
From time to time,
And complained
About the ever present pollution,
But in general,
He just ignored it,
And concentrated on
Enjoying living the moment,
No mater what
He was happened to be doing.
He liked the feeling
Of being an urban professional,
And was always well groomed
And impeccably dressed,
A class act, but one
He was extremely comfortable with
And proficient at.
He relished the company
Of scholarly minds,
Wiling away the hours
Discussing philosophy,
The economy and politics.
This was one of the benefits
To living in a university town,
And why he chose to stay.
He was as much a part of the city
As the city was a part of him.

Crazy Mama

She was probably
A bit insane
Most of her life,
But she was
Distinctly senile
By the time
He got to know her.
She is his grandmother
On his mother's side,
A feisty independent,
And generally harmless
Little old lady,
Who still lives alone,
Though surrounded
By relatives.
Out of necessity,
The family has taken to
Locking the gate
In the fence
Around the property
To keep her inside.
She tends to
Wander off whenever
She gets a chance.
One time she was found
Walking alongside
The freeway out of town
Heading who knows where.
Another time someone
Recognized her strolling
On the far side of town
And kindly brought
Her back home.
Apparently “Mama,”
As all of the family
Likes to call her,
Has mentally erased
His mother from her mind.
It could have something
To do with the fact that
They never got along
All that well to begin with.
Anyway, his mother
Stopped by to check on Mama,
And see how she was doing.
Mama's response
Was to call the police
And report a strange woman
Inside her house.
Even when confronted
With old family photographs
Clearly showing
His mother as a part
Of the family,
Mama claimed not to know
Who her daughter was.
He rather imagines
The police officers
Responding to the complaint
Must have had a laugh
Out of that situation.
Mama is full of
Quirks and eccentricities,
And one of the most bizarre
Is that she has lately
Given birth to
A porcelain Christ figure
Which she carries
All over the place
Wrapped in a blanket,
Treating it like a baby.
She tells everyone
How good her baby is
Because it is so quiet,
And she dutifully
Cautions visitors
To be quiet
So they don't
Wake up the baby,
When anyone picks up Mama,
Someone has to
Stay behind and babysit
Her precious baby.
In spite of all that,
And maybe sometimes
Because of her wacky dementia,
She is loved by everyone.

The Show Place

The house was antiseptically clean,
Cold and sterile
With everything in its place
Except for me.
There was plastic covering the chairs
And not a speck of dust anywhere
As if hermetically sealed
And meant for
Some other time than this.
It was decorated
With exquisite taste,
Expensive artwork and lighting,
Yet flavorless all the same.
There was something missing
And I didn’t feel comfortable there.
It was a house meant for show
But definitely not for living.

A Nation of Crabs

They are like crabs
Squirming around
Inside a bucket,
All of them trying
To escape captivity,
But the moment
One of them appears
Ready to succeed,
The others reach up
And pull him back down.
Each crab is out for himself
And himself alone,
For no two crabs
Will work together
For more than a moment or two
Before one of them
Stabs the other
In the back.
I suppose they are waiting
For the crab
Who would be King
To extract himself
From the fray
And show the rest
The path to freedom,
But all who escape
Seek another life
And leave the rest to squirm.

Zen Limbo

He observes life
Without emotion,
Living as if he is
On the outside
Looking in,
As if it is not
Happening to him,
Or as if
He has no concern
For how it turns out.
He is in
Suspended animation,
Not participating
Or being at cause
In anything
That happens,
Present in body,
But reacting as if
He isn’t there.

Working Stiff

He works on the line
At the local factory
Doing the 3 to 11 shift.
It is hard work,
Tedious and boring,
But he has been
Doing it so long,
He can practically
Do it with his eyes shut.
It is a job
He loves to hate.
About all he can say
In its favor
Is it puts food
On the table.
His buddies and him
Collect at the local pub
Each afternoon
To shoot the breeze,
Complain about life,
Down a couple beers,
And maybe play
A few rounds of pool.
He has a wife
And a couple of kids,
But he doesn’t seem
Overly anxious
To get back home.
It is a routine
He has fallen into,
Devoid of all passion
Mindless
Of the passing time,
And numb to
The sense of being alive.

Walking in Darkness

Much of her life was spent
In a muddled state of confusion.
She had tried to make
Sense of the world
For the longest time,
But had given up in frustration,
Concluding the logic of the universe
Was beyond her comprehension.
Being human gave her no insight
Into why others act the way they do,
Or why life occurs as it does.
It was all a mystery to her.
She drifted by as if in a fog,
The light of understanding
Rarely piercing the darkness
Of her mind.
Life just happened around her
And she was never at cause.
It was an act she put on,
Pretending she didn’t have a brain.
Yet she was as smart as anyone else.
Her brain just never followed the logic,
Or even deduced that there was
Such an order to the universe.

Typhoid Mary of Flames

There she is
With her hair singed,
Having barely survived
Another fiery ordeal.
The woman is constantly
Scurrying around
Putting out fires,
Dealing with emergencies
Of one sort
Or another,
Running herself ragged.
She is perpetually
On the brink of exhaustion,
Always vigilant,
Fearful that each new flame
Might get out of hand.
In spite of all
Her heroic efforts,
She often leaves
A place or situation
In smoldering ruins.
It is almost as if
The neighborhood
Suddenly erupts
In spontaneous combustion
Whenever she is around.
She’s a regular
Typhoid Mary of flame,
With no idea
She’s the center of the fires.

The Savior

He was thirteen
When he decided
His purpose in life
Was to save the world.
It was a decision
Born entirely
On his own need
For recognition,
And reflected nothing
Of the condition
Of the world.
He hungered
To be somebody,
To make a difference,
To win the praise
Of the multitudes.
In time he grew frustrated
At his inability
To carry out
Such a lofty plan,
And he began
Scaling down
The scope of his mission.
It shrank
From the world
Down to the nation,
Down to his state,
And further down
To his city,
Then to his family
And finally to himself.
In the end
He could save no one,
Not even himself.
He never became
The hero he thought
He had to be,
At least not
In his own eyes,
And it took him
A lifetime to realize
That the world
Never needed saving
In the first place.

The Nice Guy Syndrome

He really is a nice guy,
Kind and considerate,
Popular and congenial,
The kind of person
People like to have around,
But his act
Is a two edged sword.
It is based on a fear
Of being straight with others,
Or confronting them
When confrontation is needed.
It robs him of the ability
To be authentic
Which costs him
The intimacy he seeks.
It also leaves him vulnerable
To being taken advantage of,
A definite liability
When it comes to business.
It is a way of being
That has been a curse
As well as a blessing.

The Dimwitted Rhino

He forages in the jungle
We call life,
Intently searching for a way
To get ahead.
He snorts and roars
His determination
To battle the tide
Of humanity,
Then charges forward,
Hurling his might
Against the foliage
That blocks his way.
Like a dimwitted rhinoceros,
He pits his intellect,
Effort and brawn
In a solitary war
Against the world,
But the world is
A formidable adversary
While he acts alone.
It never occurs to him
To enroll allies
In the nobility
Of his mission,
Thus success
Or failure depends
On him alone,
And in his ability
To continue toiling
In spite of the odds.

The Grindstone Grinds

Back in his early twenties
He thought he had it made.
He had a job with a major company
That paid what seemed like
A whole lot of money
To a kid fresh out of college,
And he was progressively
Working his way to the top.
He had a college sweetheart
And they were engaged
To be married.
They had even put money down
On the house of their dreams.
He prided himself
That he earned every penny he got,
After all, he put in
Countless extra hours
To get where he was.
The sacrifice seemed justified
Because he was rising fast,
Becoming a superstar
In that business world,
Or at least he was
Until his fiancee decided
The life of an executive widow
Wasn’t what she had in mind.
After she left,
The effort to get ahead
Seemed pointless,
His heart was no longer
In climbing the ladder
Of corporate success,
And he soon left that job
For a position
Where his time
Would be more his own.

Fire Fighter

She is a woman
Of perpetual motion,
Scurrying around
At a frantic pace
Putting out fires,
Dealing with emergencies
One after another,
Running herself ragged.
She has no idea
Things could be handled
Any other way
Than in crisis mode.
She has never learned
To take life as it comes,
To relax and enjoy herself,
To trust that it will
Work out in the end,
For it always does.

Remorse

She loudly trumpets
Her feelings
Of guilt and remorse
For what she did
And all the people
She let down.
She acts as if
Her feeling bad
About those things
Compensates for
The trouble caused.
Her guilt is an opera
Full of flamboyant suffering,
A noisy racket
Of meaningless
Verbal penance.
In truth it is
A smoke screen
Leaving no one to blame
And no one responsible.

Confusion

Much of her life was spent
In a muddled state of confusion.
She had tried to make
Sense of the world
For the longest time,
But had given up in frustration,
Concluding the logic of the universe
Was beyond her comprehension.
Being human gave her no insight
Into why others act the way they do,
Or why life occurs as it does.
It was all a mystery to her.
She drifted by as if in a fog,
The light of understanding
Rarely piercing the darkness
Of the filter
Through which she observed
The universe around her.