NAUGHTY FAWN, YOU’VE BEEN IN THE FLOWERBED

Again, xylem-tripe
in the tufts of your grill,

torrid prints in the gravel-kibble
as you darn the fauna wif
your wake of pheremones.

Naught fawns
don’t titter

them shits don’t even snicker.

They fewmet
my Tec-9 Anima

an impala of coitus
jackhammers.

Them shits is insolent lechery,
nubile, indecorous tramps.

They make we want throttle
the Burghers of Calais
several monsignors
and the loincloth satrap
of the Ganges.

And yet none shall remain to guide
the tenor of my stripper-pole

when I am ill-disposed, slaughtering
niggas with my discursive
scimitar?
 
 
 
PLAYING THE WORLD’S SMALLEST PITY-VIOLIN: RUB YOUR INDEX FINGER AGAINST YOUR THUMB AND YOU CAN PLAY TOO.

Giving up ‘eyting was like superhard, super—
superhard. A reservoir sprung all up in my shit,
and I began to beast

and I found myself beasting for Marlboro Reds,
and I found myself at the Museum of the City
in front of the Magnum photography
with poignant garbage
in my headphones
and began a pattycake of tears
a pavilion of pathos anthems
repeated mantra-tomes
to the intercom of my amygdala
to let go of the poison
let the poison go, Scorpio.

Scorpio, let the poison go!

 

Yago is from the People’s Republic of Miami but he was born and raised in Bensonhurst. You will mistake him for being Pakistani or possibly Puerto Rican but definitely not an Argentine-American. That is because Yago’s mom is Tucumana which means Yago’s grandfather used to wrestle pumas and curse in Quechua.

Yago teaches 11th grade English in a trench in the Bronx. Hopefully, the only thing that will survive him is music. And, religiously, Yago operates indoor pick-up soccer at the Harlem Y. Yago’s work has appeared in COMBO, Lungfull!, LIT, Exquisite Corpse, FIELD, and the U.S. Latino Review. In 2005, he self-published, Rubberroom, a play in free verse about a first-year teacher that is disciplined off-site after throwing a chair in class.