Poetry: Selections from Nick Romeo

Binding

 

Remember those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books?

I used to read them over and over choosing a different 

option, or path each time so I could explore every possible 

ending.

 

I always hated how the endings were binary – 

everyone dies, or everyone lives 

happily ever after. 

 

Why couldn’t they just live – buy a lowrider with a dope paint scheme? 

Or build a perpetual motion machine?  

 

I often think to myself how I might have dumped her in Harrisburg,

that time at the party when that scuzzbucket stroked her ear lobe.

I punched his hand away. And she got mad at me saying that I created a scene. 

 

I should have told her: “Nope! you’re wrong, I created a vignette.” 

But instead, I said nothing. 

 

I also think how I might have let her go that time she wanted to move to California.  

She simply mentioned that she cares about me, but doesn’t love me. 

 

I should have said: “I can offer this snazzy new suitcase – it has wheels.” 

But instead, I said nothing.

 

I think about that other time she called from her sister’s house screaming 

every imaginable obscenity in various combos, “Your addiction is killing me!”

 

I should have said nothing but instead I mentioned, 

“But, you seem to be handling it well.”

The fallout still hasn’t cleared out of the house.  

 

Nevertheless here we are – still chug-a-luggin’ along. 

 

Maybe I’m just curious to see the tale continues despite  

it ending several times, and less than halfway through the story.

 

I guess I can’t put the book down.

She Referred to Her Son as a Sporting Goods Store

 

I stepped back and asked:

“Do you think my parents 

say the same about me?”

 

She replied: Na, you’re 

always visiting and helping them.

 

“What about twenty years ago?”

 

Probably, she frowned.

 

It took me decades to fully

appreciate the wars mom and dad

fought on behalf of the family.

 

I always saw them as prison guards,

or evil scientists performing some

psychological torture experiments.

Yes, “No” was their favorite word,

while the enforcement mechanism:

a wooden cutting board with a handle,

was used across my behind - often. 

 

You should have seen their swing.

They could have pinch-hit for the Pirates.

 

And placing hands to protect just meant 

injured knuckles and fingers. 

 

Frantic pedantic pedagogues! 

 

But during that night where my life

combusted and everything was melting,

I called them after I dialed 9 1 1.

 

It was dad who drove me to the hospital, 

following my wife who was nested 

in those flashing lights, 

all while talking me out of blame.

 

It was mom who arranged my stay.

She didn’t fuss when I threw up breakfast 

onto the plate that next morning. 

 

Years later I had a chance to thank them, 

after I put myself through college, 

passing with flying degrees of color.

 

I showed dad my papers and apologized 

for the sleepless nights mixed with

heartaches, headaches, stomachaches,

toothaches, and backaches. 

 

He placed his hand on my shoulder 

and laughed: 

“It’s no problem. I was far worse.”

 

Well, that’s a nice story. Do you think my son

will ever thank me one day?

 

I smiled: “Probably.”

Denial of the Realist

 

She asked me: 

Do you know what a nihilist is? 

I replied: ‘Sure it’s an

Egyptian River Boat Captain’

She might have laughed 

She might have punched me in the face

Either way I don’t care about philosophy

It’s not math where the answer is correct

Regardless of your astral connection 

coordinate system and relative plane

But she insists on invoking her boy-toys:

Nietzsche Kierkegaard Schopenhauer 

As a reason for destructive actions

Almost like she has a Bingo Card

Of bad behavior with a chip

Covering me in the middle

But if it were up to me

I’d clean off her grime

One kiss at a time

Laughing in a field of valerian

Lilacs lavender poppy

While I hold her for dear life

We can both cry forming pools

Large enough for fuchsia elephants

To cannon ball into 

Splashing 

Creating rivers flowing uphill 

Then I will be her riverboat captain

She Wears Bengals on Her Wrist 

 

It was mentioned by a dear friend,

while I thought: That sounds painful.

I remember my cat biting me

on the wrist. Next day, swelling,

greenish-brown pus oozing. 

I healed by squeezing, then

hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin.

 

Despite the hurt, I want to 

Wear the Bengals as a T-shirt.

But my dad said I would be banished

from his home, forever. 

“This is Steelers Country!” 

He’s easy to troll and it’s funny.

I have the black and white logo picked out,

because it matches my cat 

who bites my wrist.

Fishnets

 

Dragnets to my psyche

I couldn’t help but spot

Your color / vibrance

Prancing thru space

Words fall out of my head

Out of line dripping

Thru the ether’s net

Collecting in melted pools

Capturing your reflection

Nick Romeo, when not at his nine-to-five occupation which is strongly situated in the STEM fields, he passes the time with his wife, cats, and his art creations. His main forms of expression are 3D digital renderings, electronic music, writing, sewing, and photography.