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3 Poems
by KJ Hannah Greenberg




A Recession-Proof Job


Pretty hands on pretty keys,

Make such business harmonies.

Polished fingers, matching toes,

Pretty girls in rows and rows.

One’s flown to perfect postcard sites,

To drink Champaign on chilly nights.


Upon her neck, officers swing

Fresh flowers, lice, are all they bring.

No lectica, no cushioned chaise,

Just cigar smoke or cocaine haze.

Though petal skies adorn her walls,

Brandy bottles line her halls.


Few song birds’ dedicated cries,

Mark the hours ‘twix her thighs.

Mere furtive suns shed light, and then,

He knocks, escorting some more men.

She has a girl, a dog, a cat,

But her arrears slayed all that.




a line, (a short blue one)



The Momentum of Needles that Kill


According to yesterday’s short order cooks,

Needles that heal can turn needles that kill.


Managers of large gas stations, similarly,

Assert most estranged spouses won’t fight

When possessed of little dread of reprisal;

“Good deeds,” benefit lovers considerably.


See, boudoir celerity seeks fair play from perfidious sorts.

Those wrongly languid others, ever wickedly tumescent,

Demanding evenings’ romances, recall, as much as can,

Our Earth rotates six times per each orbit of far Jupiter’s.

It’s probable those base inamoratas’ still lack nacre, gold,

Discover themselves sodden with STDs’ misfortunes, fleas.


Equally, hotel clerks’ muddled states of firsthand witnessing bring

Exile or peace for habiters ensemble, depending on available funds

(Some gals insist their dear cockapoos receive bi-weekly manicures).

As well, male paramours break the fourth wall without noteworthy

Happenstance; mostly, “lads” get wimpy co-opting treacly intentions.

Under the pressure of conflict, partners ought to suspension disbelief.

Elsewise, intentionally challenges satin sheets, fresh roses, jewelry,

Magnums of Champaign, Swiss bank accounts, full vials of Viagra.


Consider, only chuckleheads and igits deign to chaffer over room service.

Such skid, their stories vastly askew, constitute very laughable companions.

Wrapped in perpetual delusion, those trulls, of any gender, whose hosies

On fur, feather, leather bits and things, make behaviors slip, slide, slosh

Across vast arrays of human sandwiches, whose archeological significance

Could improve old-fashioned practices, need to quit insisting, repeatedly,

That auras of improbability must inevitably grace their sticky goings on.

Rather, folks could process, at a periwinkle pace, meritocracy’s nuances.

Imbalanced intimate exchanges, those passages foregoing human integrity,

Form bedroom rhetoric into desert pediment. That interaction’s to be pitied.




a line, (a short blue one)



Scorning Dragons over Lost Burial Rites


Armadillo girdled lizards, spiny

Balls of malcontent, if you

Deign to forego our gizzards,

There’ll be other cloacae to rent.


Little in our human strictures,

Leave your kinfolk over-chuffed

Just some ancient warrior habits,

Curative, soothing “minor” stuff.


Specifically, where menfolk secure

Our odd beliefs, our noble things,

You peripatetic, scaly critters

Ignore them ‘er you take to wing.


It’s brutal to forgo such funerary,

To lose our sessile, sacred ways,

You beasts, who lack social peduncles

Ought to relinquish tokens of prey.


Contrariwise, your celebrations,

Redactions upon which you do insist,

Alongside your puissant admissions,

Place you on excoriation’s list.


To plot against your foes is one thing,

But hurting friends is something more.

Reprobate grandiloquence’s nothing,

If you, likewise, choose to ignore


Battlefield needs, fresh urgencies

Death tolls where we don’t succeed, 

It’s purely cruel to forbid interment,

Gobbling down our sepulchers’ need.





a line, (a blue one)


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