a journal of poetry

NATASHA SAJÉ

H

O how we hanky panky harum

scarum in our happy home, dancing hootchy

kootchy. Sure, it makes for hugger mugger

but we give a hoot for happenstance.

The yard is full o' hound and hares; the door

adorned by hammer and sickle; in the closets, hand-

me-downs. If Hammurabi and his Queen come

by, we won't be hoity-toity,  we'll

offer haggis or humble pie.  Our bed

floats on hocus-pocus (our corpore

wholly habeas) and the kitchen hums

a hymn, Hail to Higgledy-Piggledly.

If the world can't call our hurly burly hunky

dory, let it hara-kiri if it dares.

 

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