Showing posts with label Daniel Romo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daniel Romo. Show all posts
So We’re All a Little Fucked Up
By Daniel Romo
It ended poorly. She told me I lifted
weights too much and to get past my
insecurity. I was never completely
honest with her, neglecting to say
the sand kicked in my face wasn’t
metaphorical, but wrote its
way into my life nonetheless.
Though I did make it known I was
tired of tasting vomit-strewn kisses.
“If this is what a size 4 does to you,
go back to being fat!” And that was that.
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
By Daniel Romo
It ended poorly. She told me I lifted
weights too much and to get past my
insecurity. I was never completely
honest with her, neglecting to say
the sand kicked in my face wasn’t
metaphorical, but wrote its
way into my life nonetheless.
Though I did make it known I was
tired of tasting vomit-strewn kisses.
“If this is what a size 4 does to you,
go back to being fat!” And that was that.
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
Negative
By Daniel Romo
The results of the paternity test on the morning talk show that only focuses on baby momma’ drama and transgender makeovers were obvious when the charismatic host announced, “You are NOT the father!” Turns out, neither was his brother. And the young unwed mother (who upon first glance looked like a resident of Bedford Falls, but whose deliberate urban accent claimed Westside Bedford Sty) cried as if every DNA test thereafter would be rerun reminding her of reoccurring failure, and bad decisions made. “You do NOT have the job!” “You can NOT buy the car!” “He is NOT the father either!” Sometimes it’s necessary to change the channel, make the decision to get off your ass and search for the remote, rather than subject yourself to infinite daytime drabble and what you are not. Because who wants a daily dose of that shit? Not me.
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
By Daniel Romo
The results of the paternity test on the morning talk show that only focuses on baby momma’ drama and transgender makeovers were obvious when the charismatic host announced, “You are NOT the father!” Turns out, neither was his brother. And the young unwed mother (who upon first glance looked like a resident of Bedford Falls, but whose deliberate urban accent claimed Westside Bedford Sty) cried as if every DNA test thereafter would be rerun reminding her of reoccurring failure, and bad decisions made. “You do NOT have the job!” “You can NOT buy the car!” “He is NOT the father either!” Sometimes it’s necessary to change the channel, make the decision to get off your ass and search for the remote, rather than subject yourself to infinite daytime drabble and what you are not. Because who wants a daily dose of that shit? Not me.
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
In Billings
By Daniel Romo
Said he always thought God would come into his life when he was older—
But you didn’t. I don’t blame you. Standing with his back leaned against
the kitchen counter, he ate a big steak holding it in his calloused hands like
fresh kill. He licked his fingers and belched when he was finished. That was
last night in Billings. This morning he ate a bowl of Corn Flakes for breakfast
and laughed while soy milk trickled down and evaporated into his lavish,
rustic beard. Quite funny. Even his Labrador he called “Moats-art” got a
kick out of it, howling in tune to the man’s own amusement. How ‘bout that
boy? Hee hee hee... And at noon when perfectly parted hair, short-sleeved
Mormons knocked on his front door, he dove to the ground like he did when
he heard Vietcong thunder. That was forty years ago in Hanoi, and said,
Please God. Don’t let them see me. Hee hee hee...
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
By Daniel Romo
Said he always thought God would come into his life when he was older—
But you didn’t. I don’t blame you. Standing with his back leaned against
the kitchen counter, he ate a big steak holding it in his calloused hands like
fresh kill. He licked his fingers and belched when he was finished. That was
last night in Billings. This morning he ate a bowl of Corn Flakes for breakfast
and laughed while soy milk trickled down and evaporated into his lavish,
rustic beard. Quite funny. Even his Labrador he called “Moats-art” got a
kick out of it, howling in tune to the man’s own amusement. How ‘bout that
boy? Hee hee hee... And at noon when perfectly parted hair, short-sleeved
Mormons knocked on his front door, he dove to the ground like he did when
he heard Vietcong thunder. That was forty years ago in Hanoi, and said,
Please God. Don’t let them see me. Hee hee hee...
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
The Nerve
By Daniel Romo
He thought I was a carnie. And never had I been so insulted! Not
even when Alex Gordon called me a dirty wetback in third grade.
A carnie! “Excuse me. Where do I buy tickets?” Was it because of
my basic blue tee and distressed denim pants I purchased yesterday
from the GAP? Perhaps my disdain for shaving, hence my 5 o’ clock
shadow maybe more like 6, but even so. Doesn’t he know I’m allergic
to hay and meager pay, and I have health insurance? Not to mention
I hate traveling, crowds, and corn dogs. A carnie! I haven’t even had
to do community service. And I graduated high school with honors,
college even. And when he left because my disbelieving stare wasn’t
the answer he was looking for, I tapped him on the shoulder making
sure to give him a piece of my mind. “Excuse me sir…The ticket
booth is behind the Porta-Potties.” Huh. A carnie.
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
By Daniel Romo
He thought I was a carnie. And never had I been so insulted! Not
even when Alex Gordon called me a dirty wetback in third grade.
A carnie! “Excuse me. Where do I buy tickets?” Was it because of
my basic blue tee and distressed denim pants I purchased yesterday
from the GAP? Perhaps my disdain for shaving, hence my 5 o’ clock
shadow maybe more like 6, but even so. Doesn’t he know I’m allergic
to hay and meager pay, and I have health insurance? Not to mention
I hate traveling, crowds, and corn dogs. A carnie! I haven’t even had
to do community service. And I graduated high school with honors,
college even. And when he left because my disbelieving stare wasn’t
the answer he was looking for, I tapped him on the shoulder making
sure to give him a piece of my mind. “Excuse me sir…The ticket
booth is behind the Porta-Potties.” Huh. A carnie.
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
Simple
By Daniel Romo
They offered kids like me an invitation to play each day, where
clouds were swept away and friendly neighbors met yet continually
asked if I could tell them how to get there. Perhaps so engrossed in
their sense of community, lost was their sense of direction. Can you
tell me how to get to that familiar street to meet multi-ethnic, highly
literate orphans who appreciated man’s differences, never giving
second thought to Burt and Ernie’s relationship, or questioning if
an orange, hairless man playing with rubber duckies in the bathtub
is merely metaphorical. They taught us about conservation and
the environment, even though we learned it’s not easy being green.
Each episode was always brought to us by a number and letter.
Just once I wished they would’ve devoted a show to the number 2
and letter squiggly n. Stick a giant, felt cutout on Maria’s clingy
blouse like a Latina superhero. I can picture The Count pointing and
narrating it now— “Children, this is the Spanish N, also known as
eñe. Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu… And those are a pair, also known as 2.
I shall use them in a sentence. El niño dreams of Marias’ 2 spicy
jalapeño breasts. Niño. Jalapeño. Breasts. Count them. 2 breasts.
Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu…” Mr. Rogers would walk by and instantly
get a chubby, conservative khakis on fire, sweater buttons popping off
like spontaneous combustion of the conformist, envious he’s not a
resident of this zealous zip code. But now our children stand too close
to the TV playing Wii, absorb nonsense from a witty sponge, yet still
find time to lament the absence of their fathers. How I miss the simplicity
of public television, static naïveté, where I could always count on Linda
who spoke sign to give a thumbs up confirming everything, “A-ok.”
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
By Daniel Romo
They offered kids like me an invitation to play each day, where
clouds were swept away and friendly neighbors met yet continually
asked if I could tell them how to get there. Perhaps so engrossed in
their sense of community, lost was their sense of direction. Can you
tell me how to get to that familiar street to meet multi-ethnic, highly
literate orphans who appreciated man’s differences, never giving
second thought to Burt and Ernie’s relationship, or questioning if
an orange, hairless man playing with rubber duckies in the bathtub
is merely metaphorical. They taught us about conservation and
the environment, even though we learned it’s not easy being green.
Each episode was always brought to us by a number and letter.
Just once I wished they would’ve devoted a show to the number 2
and letter squiggly n. Stick a giant, felt cutout on Maria’s clingy
blouse like a Latina superhero. I can picture The Count pointing and
narrating it now— “Children, this is the Spanish N, also known as
eñe. Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu… And those are a pair, also known as 2.
I shall use them in a sentence. El niño dreams of Marias’ 2 spicy
jalapeño breasts. Niño. Jalapeño. Breasts. Count them. 2 breasts.
Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu…” Mr. Rogers would walk by and instantly
get a chubby, conservative khakis on fire, sweater buttons popping off
like spontaneous combustion of the conformist, envious he’s not a
resident of this zealous zip code. But now our children stand too close
to the TV playing Wii, absorb nonsense from a witty sponge, yet still
find time to lament the absence of their fathers. How I miss the simplicity
of public television, static naïveté, where I could always count on Linda
who spoke sign to give a thumbs up confirming everything, “A-ok.”
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
