BEAUTY PALLOR

                                             BEAUTY PALLOR

                                           Ole’ to the senoritas  

                                               fighting the bull

                                           from an endless cue

                                                    of toros.

Horns lowered,

eyes glowering,

staring

at a Mexican market stage,

we stood,

         separated from –

         yet red-cape-tivated by –

the beauty of

a Mexican songstress              

reigning

         with a Latina flair

from her mariachi band --

         firmly in command of

                  the music —

                  and us men

                  standing

in a crowded market square.

Petite, stately,

with long black hair

         ribboned at the waist;

dark eyes emanating grace --

A visual feast:  

 To us, inedible,

with a taste:   

         At best,  imaginable

and only from afar.

Dennis R. Keefe, April 2, 2007   

COUPLE OF TOOS

 COUPLE OF TOOS

I watched a  man straddle a chair,

a Jimmy Hoffa henchman, maybe,

hunched at table, eyes

in a vacant stare

past her shoulder.

                                                                       

She, upright, hand in lap,

salad-poking busy

sprinkled the contents from

her plastic sandwich bag.

No eye contact,

as far as I could see.

No words

occurred.                      

I wondered about the widow by the window.

Did she want to see them talking?

And the obese man in a wheelchair

might have mused,

“They could be up and walking.”

Buffet busers cleared;

others milled, refilling

water, Cokes and tea.

Dennis R. Keefe

December 22, 2008

BABY ROOMBA

                                            BABY ROOMBA

Room by room,

         Senja cruised –

                  Baby Roomba

                           dragging her broom

                                    In a random toddler swagger,

                           engaging the world,

                  acquiring her swag,

         learning from her

domestic travels.

                 

She targeted a cabinet,

         pried open the doors

                  and toppled its Tupperware

                           canisters.  Then turned to a drawer

                                    and dumped its treasures on the                                             floor.

                           Awaiting her control were

         colorful funnels, salad tongs and

grandma’s tablespoon measures.    

Adults in the round

         passed down

                  sentence:

                           Thumbs up,

                                    Senja, your

                           performance

                  definitely 

         cleaned up

again today.

Dennis R. Keefe, October 24, 2005

AROUND THE PLAYGROUND, OUT OF THE BOX

AROUND THE PLAYGROUND,

OUT OF THE BOX

Behold, a playground box

Designed for those whose job it is

To play outside the box

 

Follow my grandchildren if you will

Kids who excel 
At play

Are your feet bare?

Shoes and socks, a bother

Things for adults to gather 

While the pros attend to what matters

I envisioned 
Begin-here-go-that-way-end-there

But to my Zeus 1 and Zeus 2

The fun was to play god with rules

Fashion a universe

(In a matter of hours, by the way,

Not six days)

Approach the climber from the back

Circle the perimeter

Feet between the rails
And, dangling your toes 

Make up your challenges as you go

On the slide make sure 

Your adult is around

Then go up, not down

And demonstrate 
Why feet are best kept bare

At the swings

It's not swing versus pump

To these chimps

It's shinny up the poles

Skootch across the top

Then down the other side

Repeat

Wherever poles and bars can be found

At the monkey bars swing arm to arm

Knees up, hang upside down

Grab a pole and flip feet down, right side up

Then up the climbing wall in the boring way

Walk the top and jump

To the next object of play.

You get the picture – or a picture of sorts –

From an adult viewing younger sports

While keeping track of shoes, jackets and socks

That is to say, from inside the box

DRK

12/21/14

GIRLWIND

                                                  GIRLWIND

Whirlwind visits

roil musty grandparent airs

little bodies everywhere

flying, tumbling

never walking

never mumbling

attention demanding

judication remanding

busy visits

sizzling minutes

prying digits

opening doors and drawers

necessitating tornado repair

hurricane lashings

clothes washing

bathing bodies bare

corralling, lassoing

pajama tucking

sucking cocoa straws

blizzard blows

frozen toes

red faces

hot backs by the fireplace

nearly singeing clothes and hair

meme mama,

calming marina from adventure’s harms

anchored captain

steering boatlets

through life’s growing storms

                                                             

Dennis R. Keefe

8/8/05

CYCLE-LOGICAL -- PRESS FOR GO

CYCLE-LOGICAL –

PRESS FOR GO

From many rooms, one    

laundry grouped and basket batched.             

Here’s the rest.

From one, many

sorts:

shirts and shorts

colors, whites

frillies, heavies,

wash and wear.

Wash the worn.

Reach for bleach or

hope in soap.

Batten down and button down.

If wash, then dry.

Wash and dry

dry or not wash.

Some we skip and drip

but more oftener we add the softener.

Stuff the dryer;

Twist and click.

Unstuff                        

and basket batch.

Then sort and match.

Fold OR (not and) hang.

Those requiring ironing,

Press then dress;

If dress, first press

press or no dress

From one to many.

Distribute

rooms, closets, drawers

choosers and users,

and, lo,

Return to go.

Dennis R. Keefe

October 31, 2008

A RUBE CUBED

A RUBE CUBED

Sense and the City   

Amazing doers use
talents, wit, their ability
to make sense of a city.
With the energy of youth
eager to pay
two cents dues
for what’s to take
and make of the city’s vibrant synergy.

We who care
about the fare
enough to pay for what they do
rely on those with a nose
for where the action is.

And so the city goes.

Cents and the City

The city sent us –
hoofers – noting:
Where’s the beef?
The high cost of space, we mused
left no range for rovers super-sized.
Walk them about,
stack them up.

And so the city culls.

Individuals come, aiming high, bound
to make some noise
but somewhere along the rise
to the tops of the rocks
the sounds puree.

And so the city mulls.

For my money, a prairie guy,
accustomed to horizontal
not vertical
don’t come here with vertigo.

Scents and the City

We went looking      
afoot among the ‘hoods
poking noses into stores
seeking special foods.

We elbowed our way                      
through Zabar’s nasal overkill
of tilapia and basil,
shelves of teas and bries
walls of tins, toffees,                   
open barrels of coffee beans
Ethiopian, Jamaican
Yirgacheffe blue mountain style, 
smells of whitefish, lox
salmon and trout mixed
with tuna, 
seeded, filled, dilled or sesame’d.

Down aisles where cases displayed
bleu cheeses, rude
bakery aromas intrude
on olives, pickles, and other
potent pleasers.                                      

Outside,
vendors compete through open doors –
cupcake stores, 
chocolate delis, luncheonettes and diners,
all hawking scents in the city.

And so the city blends.

Osterized olfactories send
from many aromas, one.

For my two city cents worth,
I, the prairie guy,
lilies freshen a mixed bouquet
but we struggle to note their
special flower way.                 

Dennis R. Keefe
April 26, 2008