David Turman and KJ Hannah Greenburg

David Turman

Response Piece

© KJ Hannah Greenberg

Inspiration Piece

Of, or relating to the cursory; splinters of chits.
As sensible as growing out a hangnail, as piling up vacant utilities,
Maybe, as spectacularly funicular as Medusian tresses on a bad hair day.
Such times, as when buses launched ad campaigns, all available rocket thrusters
Readied different sorts of freedoms, hungered enemies, bothered civilians.
The riots’ eyewitnesses saw more than concrete, glass, steel, tract housing, collapse.
Those afterblast’s gaping grimaces humbled, then mortified, our pilots,
Defanged even those weaponed action figures, whose sartorial particulars meant business.
In an era when politicos grew from chemical vats, ever glowing with uranium, curium, berkelium,
Observers testified that the resultant red glare, at dawn, yet showed bombs bursting.
Suddenly, leaders’ plastic rictuses seemed more troublesome than could be accounted
By mere innocent, greedy floundering; people began to measure relative radioactivity.
In the rarified air of extreme contamination, stubborn galactic orbits stopped mattering.
Other worlds’ invasions could occur or not, evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.
Spacers would, forevermore, be considered conquerors non gratis as long as locals stood trial.
Proportion to their propensity for dancing away cultures, for frittering over genocide,
Monsters no longer enjoyed the hospitality of human fear;
Atomic catastrophes, ruined farmlands, additional remote apocalypses required
That unfriendly “visitors,” as such, were ignored, processed like commonplace waste.
Human response to chaos is finite; numbness sets in after handfuls of continents ash.
Fermented opinions, like fallout’s winds, assure mutual destruction, leave no extra sentiment.
Survivors speak of creation, both because it’s nice to recount pleasntries, plus
Children ask after histories. Youth remains disgruntled with fancied narratives.
Even smaller, isolated units, every single hydromel dribbled to attract fey folk,
Risk ridicule in order to march, with words, against social injustice, imaged or otherwise.
Also, most important, evolving, post-holocaust sorts fall to apoplexy, to total loss of reason
Beyond their fabulous forecasts. The whole gets trampled upon by the remnants.
Defense structures’ dust, relative to magics performed by cultural genies, stays superficial.