Alan J. Kellner’s poetic sensibility blends his training in philosophy and his experience as a stay-at-home dad, writing in accessible language with creative internal rhymes resting on a rhythmic foundation.
Yearbook Memories
My sister and I found my dad’s yearbook
in the closet. No surprise he was thinner
still mustached. Then
we found a love note from Aunt Rubie.
Did his brother comfort her
after my father dropped “Yours Truly”?
How’d it feel to her to look upward
from embrace, teared; to brave the uncanny?
Still a Kellner. They see each other to this day
at family gatherings.
That’s not awkward.
Our last year at Urban Middle School
I didn’t buy a yearbook at all.
The custom here is to sign everyone’s.
Lacking one I had them sign my arms.
When I could barely find a space for her
I proposed a nook high up on my elbow
somewhere between Aubrey, Vikki, JR.
My new girlfriend – now wife – knew better
signed along my
forehead
claimed me for all time.
© Alan J. Kellner
Burger Sonnet
Is there a meal better than lunch? I think
not. I love to go out midday, burger
and fries at North Avenue grill, sparkl-
ing water. Yes, a refill. A reader,
I bring a book too, even though I know
I’m not likely to get far before my
food arrives and I eat a few fries. Oh,
I had the time, so why did I skip lunch?
Sobelman’s was across the street from the
BBC Lighting Gallery where I
already was, where my wife and I ate
Milwaukee-famous burgers after we
picked out fixtures for the new house we were
building. Why didn’t I want to eat lunch?
© Alan J. Kellner