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We’ve never met,
but it seems you live in every other poem I read:
smiling somewhere between cornfields
and chemistry class,
sobbing alongside 7-11s and station wagons,
dying in downtrodden tenements.

Why did you draw a mustache on the scarecrow?
Did you feel abandoned when the star quarterback
left you alone under the bleachers?
Wasn’t it you, middle-aged, who said,
“Radiation feels like sunburning your guts.”

you are a burning familiar page,
 or maybe I just keep reading the same poem
over and over again,
searching for the right words to say
when we’re properly introduced.

(originally published here)

About Daniel Romo

Author of Apologies in Reverse (FutureCycle Press, 2019), When Kerosene's Involved (Mojave River Press, 2014) and Romancing Gravity (Silver Birch Press, 2013). I'm partial to prose poems. Alliteration. And fragments.

2 responses »

  1. Your muse made flesh? She’d destroy you, y’know. You’d be besotted and she’d demand offerings, blood sacrifices, and, and… a theme song. 😉

    I like how the first stanza ‘maps’ your poems, with “cornfields and chemistry class… 7-11s and station wagons… downtrodden tenements” seeming to serve as landmarks.



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