In the ultimate expression
of Asian masculinity,
Solo doesn’t mean solitude
or a surly scoundrel,
the rough-hewn hero.
It means a mirrored name
in a cheap plastic cup
covered in the muddy fluid
we pour at the tailgate
over the lukewarm dumplings,
over meat of all persuasions,
so rawfully manly
we did not notice
the burning tongues
and the salty aftertaste
we learned to treasure
in these hours with fathers,
with broken warabashi,
and a couple of beers
waiting for kick-off
on another rainy afternoon
in paradise.
Daryl Muranaka lives with his family in New England. In his spare time, he enjoys aikido and taijiquan, and exploring his children’s dual heritages. He has written one book of poems, Hanami, and two chapbooks, The Minstrel of Belmont and Leading the Beast Home.
Not a sports fan, but I would love to be at this tailgate party.