THEY CALL THE WIND PARIAH

— The poetry and lyric column of the C-of-C-C Newsletter

—With an introduction by Vito Haeckeler, Council man-on-the-street

Alright—here’s what happened.

You probably saw the news out of East Brunswick, NJ:

Police Investigate Vandalism at New Jersey Menorah, Find ‘Perpetrator’

Case closed. Officially.

But for about twelve hours there, everybody needed somebody to blame. Cops did their job, checked the tape, and—credit where it’s due—didn’t get to pin it on a person who wasn’t there.

Which is a relief to Black Cloud, by the way. He didn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. And he’s glad nobody pretended otherwise. Though now, if we’re being honest, certain folks are giving the wind the side-eye. Zephyrs especially. Nothing proven, but they’re being talked about. Names written down. Patterns discussed.

That’s where he comes in. Black Cloud’s our bard of things going awry—the unintended consequences, the trouble nobody ordered but everybody reacts to. He writes from that moment after the facts land, when the feeling hasn’t caught up yet.

Anyway—menorah’s getting fixed. Wind took the rap.

Black Cloud sings below:

They Call The Wind Pariah

(After the Broadway standard “They Call the Wind Maria” from Paint Your Wagon, repurposed under gusty circumstances.)

Away down there they’ve got a name for venom, hate, and ire, But when they found the wind to blame, They called the wind Pariah.

Pariah blew the menorah down, And set the aggrieved a-cryin’, Pariah hanukkiah’d the ground. Like folks were up there tryin’.

But then one night the cops found out, They were not far behind me, And now I’m free—so very free—. They couldn’t pin it on me.

Away out here they thought they had a name, For hate that doesn’t tire, But when Pariah was found out, A zephyr raised the ire. [And the wind was put on a watchlist.]

Away down there they’ve got a name. For rain and wind and fire: The rain is less, the fire’s slow, They still call the wind Pariah. —Black Cloud, the Council’s Chief Poetic Justice Warrior.