Kevin Keane (11.26.06)

How to Control Time

first teach orchids to shrink to

their roots and petrified trees

to softly bow in the wind—

then calendars will ignite

and clocks ticking melt

hit absolute zero

on a moonless night

tape eyes and ears shut—

coffins will turn to cribs

and waterfalls cascade up hills

— by Kevin Keane

On Stage

old woman in a faded flower-print

dress jumps on the train yelling

singing with primal screaming

velocity─schizoid music of the

spheres

I wanted to clap or ask why she

sang her atonal chant of rage

but I quietly changed cars instead

─by Kevin Keane

Charity

standing in line on Broadway

strafed by sleet and cold

the patrons of the play silent and

stiff like icicles on eaves

I’m hoping Mother Courage

will rally us to face

the wind shear again

a man in a painter’s cap

and an old torn tux with tails,

his long beard down to his waist,

cries out “hey man, you got a quarter?”

“huh? oh sure─here”

he pockets it with a smile and

asks the short square man next to me─

“hey, get a job!” bounces back like hail

the one in the tux drags the man

by the collar down the street

and bashes him in the face

illustrating with a swift left hook

that it’s better to give than to

receive

─by Kevin Keane