JIM TRAINER'S PROSE POEM OF THE WEEK, When Mama Greenberg Curses

Personal Journalist Drinks Coffee & Pens Update From Hostile City

WHEN MAMA GREENBERG CURSES, the skies open and a trumpet rings out

In fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in on-wisdom
and donning a mantle

somewhere between Wiccan-bodhisattva and Jewish mother, she’s speaking to life and death

passing on her own mother’s love of dance and bargaining, and not always in that order.

She’s yelling Min!
on the corner of Wadsworth and Fayette
as the streetlights come up and the cops whir by. Quipping

quicker’n Dorothy Parker, always keeping their place at the table, laughing at the solemnity of sex and love

and not always in that order.

“Writing is the art of applying the ass to the seat.” —Dorothy Parker

Yo. Trainer here. Guest-posting on ingénue Donna Greenberg’s older and wiser on Monday.

It is imperative and anyway of most import that you please get your tickets for July 11 at Fergie’s now. Sign up as a paid subscriber and you get in free.

See you soon motherfucker.

JIM TRAINER’S “IF I DON’T BE THERE BY MORNING” TOUR
7/7 THE IVY BALTIMORE MD has been rescheduled
7/9 STUDIO 34
7/10 TBA NYC
7/11 FERGIE’S PUB PHILADELPHIA PA
w/ Maureen Ferguson
(free letter pressed broadside of Trainer’s poem “RECURRENT” with the cost of admission)