Grim interim

~

GRIM INTERIM---by John Kitasako

Fron Heart Mountain Sentinel, 1-1-43

When the lights went out all over the world,

And Old Glory was for battle unfurled,

Far from scenes of carnage and strife,

Ours became the regimented life,

Not for any disloyal sin,

But clear-cut features that make us akin:

The slant of our eye, the color of our skin.

We are. thrust into this fenced-in life,

Where fears and tears and bitterness are rife.

Here we'll be till tyranny succumbs,

Till no more will roll the martial drums.

GATHER THE SHREDS OF UPROOTED LIVES,

SEARCH FOR THE GLEAM FROM WHICH HOPE DERIVES,

BUILD ANEW, SHOULDERS BACK, IN GOD PUT TRUST,

MAKE THE BEST OF A BAD BARGAIN OR BUST.

No planning of meals, no shopping for grub,

No dishes to wash, no pots to scrub,

An eye on our watch, an ear to the beat

Of pans that clatter the call to eat.

We just line up and stamp our cold feet,

And hope for a plate with a lot of meat,

With plate in hand, we hurry dow the aisle,

Folks outside are freezing single file.

While some people bow their heads to pray, ~

Others sre grabbing the boarding-house way.

No gain in grumbling about the food,

We all must get in the ration mood,

"Food costs high, fella, just look at the price,

So praise the Lord and pass the bowl of rice."

When servings are a little bit lean,

Off we plod to nearest canteen.

Trekking to the store for extra nutrition

Has grown into an expensive tradition.

The arctic climate does not undo

Efforts of youth to pitch a little woo

In school and mess, and laundry rooms, too.

The blooming of love is an awkward plight,

Boys must count on personality or might.

Neither car nor cash is in their possession;

Boys find it tough to make an impression.

A minimum of time at home the kids spend,

Less on parents do they now depend.

Youthful delinquents are on the increase,

Adding to grief of parents and police.

Manners and morals go by the board,

Shame and perdition will be their reward.

oe

CONSIDER THE FUTURE OF OUR GENERATION,

DESTROY NOT GROUNDS FOR OUR VINDICATION,

SHOW THE YOUNG THE PATH THEY MUST TROD,

REMIND THEM OFTEN AND SPARE NOT THE ROD.

The congenial spot in camp, by Jove,

is the Vicinity of a hot coal stove.

Often as not in the warm latrine,

Bull sessioners around the stove convene.

The relaxing heat unlimbers the mind,

The tongue that's tied begins to unwind.

Confinement sharpens the desire to air

Hopes and gripes, and gossip to spare.

We turn out talk by cerload lots,

Partly serious, and humorous in spots,

From affairs of the cemp and universe

To that immaculate brown-eyed nurse. ~

We reflect the effect of the barbed wire fence

On people's morals when they're so tense.

We follow the news in this conflict bizarre

From Solomon Islands to distant Dakar.

We discuss the acts of the Native Sons,

Of Legions on the Coast and political guns.

We say that Issei, Kibei, and Nisei, too

Must mend any discord ere trouble ensure.

"Let's remeber Poston and Menzanar."

Incidents like theirs must be kept afar.

We exchange the rumors that reach our ear,

Hearsays that travel in high-speed gear.

To believe in them some people are incline,

Indicative of their state of mind.

We scoff and laugh, but know within,

That our minds too need much discipline.

"Hoarsing around" offers least resistance,

It deadens the mind, it kills persistence.

Disdain your leisure and don't stagnate,

We'll soon find out it's "too little, too late."

Resettlement is a problem to moot:

To take or not to teke the eastward route?

We knit our brows and begin to groan,

Resettlement trials to us are known.

But penal complexes we'll here develop,

Habits of herm'will soon us envelope.

o- 3 "

WITH PRESENT STATUS REMAIN NOT CONTENT,

STRIVE FOR THE DESTINY FOR WHICH YOU WERE MEANT,

HITCH YOUR WAGON TO THAT DISTANT STAR,

CHALLENGE THE CITADELS WHICH WOULD YOU DEBAR.

When day has died in the mountainous west,

We crawl into bed for our nightly rest.

Salve to our souls in nocturnal escape

From troublous fears of all manner and shape.

We dream of days we were free to roam,

Of a heavenly place called Home Sweet Home,

Of trees and flowers and "# nice green lawn--

Oh, if we could forever hold back the dawn!