Simple
By Daniel Romo
They offered kids like me an invitation to play each day, where
clouds were swept away and friendly neighbors met yet continually
asked if I could tell them how to get there. Perhaps so engrossed in
their sense of community, lost was their sense of direction. Can you
tell me how to get to that familiar street to meet multi-ethnic, highly
literate orphans who appreciated man’s differences, never giving
second thought to Burt and Ernie’s relationship, or questioning if
an orange, hairless man playing with rubber duckies in the bathtub
is merely metaphorical. They taught us about conservation and
the environment, even though we learned it’s not easy being green.
Each episode was always brought to us by a number and letter.
Just once I wished they would’ve devoted a show to the number 2
and letter squiggly n. Stick a giant, felt cutout on Maria’s clingy
blouse like a Latina superhero. I can picture The Count pointing and
narrating it now— “Children, this is the Spanish N, also known as
eñe. Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu… And those are a pair, also known as 2.
I shall use them in a sentence. El niño dreams of Marias’ 2 spicy
jalapeño breasts. Niño. Jalapeño. Breasts. Count them. 2 breasts.
Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu…” Mr. Rogers would walk by and instantly
get a chubby, conservative khakis on fire, sweater buttons popping off
like spontaneous combustion of the conformist, envious he’s not a
resident of this zealous zip code. But now our children stand too close
to the TV playing Wii, absorb nonsense from a witty sponge, yet still
find time to lament the absence of their fathers. How I miss the simplicity
of public television, static naïveté, where I could always count on Linda
who spoke sign to give a thumbs up confirming everything, “A-ok.”
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. 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 danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
By Daniel Romo
They offered kids like me an invitation to play each day, where
clouds were swept away and friendly neighbors met yet continually
asked if I could tell them how to get there. Perhaps so engrossed in
their sense of community, lost was their sense of direction. Can you
tell me how to get to that familiar street to meet multi-ethnic, highly
literate orphans who appreciated man’s differences, never giving
second thought to Burt and Ernie’s relationship, or questioning if
an orange, hairless man playing with rubber duckies in the bathtub
is merely metaphorical. They taught us about conservation and
the environment, even though we learned it’s not easy being green.
Each episode was always brought to us by a number and letter.
Just once I wished they would’ve devoted a show to the number 2
and letter squiggly n. Stick a giant, felt cutout on Maria’s clingy
blouse like a Latina superhero. I can picture The Count pointing and
narrating it now— “Children, this is the Spanish N, also known as
eñe. Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu… And those are a pair, also known as 2.
I shall use them in a sentence. El niño dreams of Marias’ 2 spicy
jalapeño breasts. Niño. Jalapeño. Breasts. Count them. 2 breasts.
Au! Au! Au! Au! Aauu…” Mr. Rogers would walk by and instantly
get a chubby, conservative khakis on fire, sweater buttons popping off
like spontaneous combustion of the conformist, envious he’s not a
resident of this zealous zip code. But now our children stand too close
to the TV playing Wii, absorb nonsense from a witty sponge, yet still
find time to lament the absence of their fathers. How I miss the simplicity
of public television, static naïveté, where I could always count on Linda
who spoke sign to give a thumbs up confirming everything, “A-ok.”
- - -
Daniel Romo teaches high school Creative Writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. 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 danielromo.wordpress.com/ (Peyote Soliloquies)<
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