You and Me

By Daniel Romo

I stood in line at 7-Eleven

after my nightly workout

to buy a quart of milk,

because osteoporosis isn’t sexy.

And because I still believe


it will do my thirty-something year-old body

some good.


Carefree college dude in front of me,

whose mondo snug tee

said I ♥ MILFS,

and barely covered

his corpulent Heineken-bolstered belly,

asked the cliché Calcutta clerk

if he could get him

an obscure brand of cigarettes;

the clerk had to be

guided three times

before he got it right.


“Dhis one?”

“Dhis one?”

“Dhis one?”


I walked out,

envying frat boy and his life,

remembering when…

guzzling my milk.

Carefree college dude

sat down on his beach cruiser,

coolly tapping his sandal to the ground

puffing away

looking up at stars

that weren’t there.


I chugged quickly,

staring at him until he looked at me,

Shaking his head in dismay as if to say,

“Hey. My life’s not any easier Bro…”


Daniel Romo teaches high school creative writing and lives in Long Beach, CA. He has recently been published in Chantrelle’s Notebook, apt, The Citron Review, and Monkeybicycle. 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 Peyote Soliloquies.

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