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Yo Yo Yo... |
by Daniel Romo
After work when my nerves are throbbing
beacons of impending congestive heart failure, I'll
christen myself Hip-hop Husband, MC Weezy Lil
Dr. Dad. Because this lyrical world of devotion
ensures my survival at least a few more years,
free from tattle-tailing tears and answers that only
get me in trouble. "You should know by now you
have to say You look good in EVERY outfit dear."
I'll utilize my newfound fandom to my advantage. "My offspring
just throw your hands in the air, & wave them like you just don't care, if you
know who's boss and who to obey at all costs
lemme here ya' scream my dad!" My dad! "My dad!" my dad!
My wife will join in too, willing participant to my call and response--
"Now when I say no more you say new shoes, No more" new shoes "No more" new shoes,
obediently nodding up and down affirming my newly reestablished
position as King of the Couch, Lord of the Laz-y-Boy, never
questioning why I'm watching SportsCenter for the 5th time today or
reenacting Darth Vader's paternal revelation to Luke.
She and the kids will respect me, serve me a bottle of Cristal after
the long day I had at work, then bring me my slippers, their
unwavering support putting me at the top of the father/husband charts,
venerable rapstar of our
white-picket fenced lives,
XL suburban bling,
yeomen rapstar shining like cubic
zurconia.
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Tee Ball |
by Daniel Romo
First
I set the ball the size of a clenched fist
on the tee.
Our front lawn is Fenway Park.
My daughter plays her first game in three weeks:
the beginning of where my junior college dreams
left off.
Keep your eye on the ball.
Hold your hands high.
Swing all the way through the zone.
Second
Her kindergarten teacher says she's the top reader
in the class because she remembers
everything.
Coach said I'd never make it because I lacked
fire.
Third
Her blood is pyre and pine tar.
Her follow through a brilliant spark,
a concerted crack condemning my elbow
for not getting out of the way fast enough,
destroying it like remedial sight words
assessed her first days of school.
Home
I'm going to the doctor today.
The swelling has not gone down.
But I'm glad she made contact.
Swinging and missing
runs in my family,
even when the ball's set
right on the tee,
shining like a flaming apple
glowing on the edge
of a teacher's desk.
Daniel Romo's recent poems can be found in Praxilla, Connotation Press, and The Acentos Review. He is an MFA candidate in poetry at Antioch University, and will be featured this spring in an anthology of up-and-coming Southern California poets published by Moon Tide Press titled Pop Art: An Anthology of Orange County Poetry. More of his writing can be found at Peyote Soliloquies (danielromo.wordpress.com).
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