Three Poems by Daniel Romo

Daniel Romo’s latest book is American Manscape (Moon Tide Press, 2026). He lives in New York. More of his work is at danieljromo.com, and more poetry from The Feedsack is here.

On the Corner of 142^nd and Edgecomb:
Eating a Granola Bar in Light Rain

My daughter called from CA and we talked
about the job market after earning her degree.

I stepped outside the cozy of the Manhattan
coffee shop for privacy and to acknowledge

the drizzle that acts as a warning before the
downpour. To welcome a new resident calls

for clouds because certainty would’ve never
birthed any shot in the dark. A scary guy with

a scar claiming his face showed me what he
believed to be diamonds on the D train,

and I wanted to say, I’m no gemologist, but
your rock is more asphalt than ice. Though is

it right to call out fool’s gold when one has
purchased his share of fakes? I tell my daughter

she’s young and has time but neglected to
mention we never truly possess all that’s

fleeting, hence fleeing. Before I exited, I
wished the man the best as he headed to

Midtown to get his treasure appraised by
someone with a monocle examining his

stone looking for the words to deliver to
someone who appears as if he speaks

granite. I wipe the granola crumbs off
and listen to her share the possibilities

that are so very real.

---

Setting

Even the most reluctant welcome mat can’t
refuse an amputated sole, and anything

becomes a romance novel when you curate
the pain. Last night I watched a romcom

from a grassy knoll in Central Park and
thought I LIVE here as the city lights and

trees created a scene that glowed like June/
July love interests. I’ve never known when

to keep romanticizing and when to call
it a day, but I surmise it’s somewhere

between first kiss and pulling the hangnail.
The time traveler’s wife waited for his returns

as he dissolved into other dimensions, the
popcorn the park gave out to accompany

the film was stale, and despite all the boxes
stacked in the hallway almost being emptied

and finally getting used to so much sweat in
the subways, I question when a man feels

he establishes residency or lives as a return
address. The movie ends and my wife and

I walked back to our new home in the dark
down unfamiliar, winding paths as if being

pulled by decades and new décor.

---

Gravity on Ibex Ave.

Even the most reluctant welcome mat
can’t refuse an amputated sole,
     and anything becomes a romance novel
     when you curate the pain.
I sink into my couch and press a button
that divides my TV into fourths,
spreading my attention among
         various sports
as if afraid to invest my time into
a single game
because I identify too much with
my team’s losing;
the most loyal fans endure through the droughts,
but even a bobblehead giveaway can’t ensure
they aren’t despondent enough to trash
their season tickets.

The pitcher tells the post-game interviewer,
      The good Lord was with me today,
but I want to ask a follow-up question of my own:
      So He wasn’t with you
                       yesterday?

Today’s Bible app verse read:
His faithfulness continues through all generations,
but what if a son spends his life struggling
to decipher
what his father left him?

I press another button that powers off the TV
and stare through the blank screen
remembering how
me and the neighborhood
kids batted balls over rooftops across the street
                                                    that never came down.

Daniel Romo answers questions about these poems in In Their Words.