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Matt Hohner: Remembering “The Jar” On the Eve of Another War 

1991, 2022

Doug, Joél, Rich, Darryl, and I sat on the roof

of the building in downtown Baltimore housing

 “The Jar,” Doug’s art studio and performance space

above the carpet store that displayed a permanent

sign reading, Temporally Closed for Remolding

Ears ringing after Jawbox played a blistering, 

post-punk music show, condensation and sweat 

dripping from the ceiling pipes, we decided 

at 2:30 a.m. to flick the cockroaches scuttling 

along the low wall on the front edge of the roof 

onto traffic on Charles Street below. It was no 

small feat of skill after several Rolling Rocks 

to bounce one off the windshield of some hotshot’s

BMW convertible. We were deities bringing plagues 

from the sky, powerful on the high cliff of our urban 

heaven where angry angels belted out buzz-saw 

hosannas into the humid air of a small room, while 

half a world away, night vision goggles and gunsights 

scanned a desert landscape for heat signatures, 

signs of movement in a war about to begin.

Copyright 2022 Matt Hohner

Matt Hohner is an editor for Loch Raven Review. Hohner’s first collection of poetry, Thresholds and Other Poems, was published under Apprentice House, 2018, and his forthcoming collection from Salmon Poetry will be published next year. He lives in Baltimore, Maryland.

Location of “The Jar” (photo: Matt Hohner)

One comment on “Matt Hohner: Remembering “The Jar” On the Eve of Another War 

  1. James Calderwood
    March 17, 2022


    James A Calderwood

    I wonder about Sir Donald
    Has he recently lost his mind
    There are almost daily sackings
    Of the people who do his grind

    What moves about in his big head
    The orange haired big bully
    Have some gears stripped their teeth
    Or a belt come off a pulley

    The daily entourage of people
    When they come to daily work
    Must really have to ponder
    What really runs this Jerk

    He is going to build a fence
    To keep the illegal migrants out
    This will make his people happy
    When there is work to be done about

    When the people are found inside the US
    He has a fit of anger and rage
    He steals all of their children
    And puts them in a cage

    I do wonder about dear Donald
    As rich as Midas he must be
    As he sits in the chair like King Canute
    To stop the tide from the briny sea

    The Russians they are a coming
    The Mafia we would not really want
    Those who pull the toenails and bludgeon
    Those who may cause him an affront

    I am glad I live in good old Oz
    Which is now the new land of the free
    He can keep the other countries to himself
    God Bless Australia for you us and me

    Liked by 1 person

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This entry was posted on March 17, 2022 by in Poetry, War and Peace and tagged , , , .

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