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Daniel Romo

I say rain. You say pyro. I say Spain. You say Cairo. I say The Mexican-American War was actually started over a woman. You say tell me more. I say her name was Lupita Conchita de la Macarena. She batted her eyes and spread her thighs one too many times for a certain Anglo general. Her novio, Hilario the Hothead, took offense and killed the general’s mother. Saddled up his stallion and raided her place at dawn. Woke her from her dreams and doused her frail body in kerosene. Lit the fuse of her limbs until the blaze took apex in her stomach—her burning flesh the voice of her son’s transgressions. I say what a painful way to go. You kiss my cheek, run your hands down my chest, and whisper in my ear. Sizzle. Sizzle.


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