Stretching the canvas for more space

From my latest book, Vanishing Fair, available on Amazon.


Hey, the new issue of 
Southern Living is in
There's a sentence I never thought I'd say
Mostly because I have never heard
Of the magazine before
But since I am in current phase
Of reading what I ordinarily wouldn't
And realizing that The Sunday New York Times
Was too much of a time hoover
To leave room for anything else
I picked up this magazine from the periodical shelf
And dove in
It did have Octavia Spencer on the cover
Which was a good sign
But I don't know whether it was by accident
Or editorial design
That the first photo inside
Was one of a pie
Apple, I'm assuming
Without any other ingredients included
I zipped through the articles about
Throw pillows and Japanese maples
All pleasing enough in their scope
Only a clutched paw of more bits of string
To add to my ever-growing sphere
Which may or may not serve any purpose
In the W.H. Auden sense
Or inspire something of limited or lesser value
On my own

Copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

Blanks Filled While You Wait

From my latest book, Vanishing Fair, available on Amazon. 

The old man was bemoaning
The daily passage of time
Probably because he just lost
Another of his friends yesterday
I know how that goes
Having been blindsided relentlessly
When I was much younger
I wanted to say
Yeah, but look at us
It's 7:30 in the morning
And we're both at the gym
That's got to count for something
Even if it is the pointless raging against
The oncoming darkness of all our lives
But I didn't say that
I just vexed my shoulders and said
What are you gonna do?
Given that we were in New Jersey
It seemed the only appropriate response
An all-purpose reaction
That is surprisingly effective
In a variety of occasions
When nothing of value said
Is going to make
Any difference

Copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

Still Busy Feeling Blue

It would have been his birthday
Yesterday
My friend, Peter
We were supposed to be a thing
Once upon a time
But it never came to pass
It just didn't
That didn't make me any less sorrowful
Of his natal anniversary
When I was perpetually reminded
Because no one has taken down
His profile
Since he was murdered
A few months ago
Assaulted in the laundry room
Of his apartment building
And left for dead
After his screams
Heard by the other tenants
Went unanswered
I don't know if they ever caught
The suspected son of a bitch
Who could do such a thing
To another human being
Let alone someone I knew by name
But it reminded me once more
Unnecessarily
In these times of sanctimonious
Self-appointed sainthood
No matter what is said
The horrible truth is
Not all lives matter
To everyone

copyright 2020 by Steve Keil