Poetry by Vincent Antonio Rendoni

            ​Bill Tyne CC




Tips for Shadowboxing Your Drunk Father

First thing’s first: Cover thyself.

Let him make the first move.

You may not even need to take a swing.

The goal is to last.

Do your research beforehand:
A couple of beers means a couple of rounds.
Hard A burns bright, burns fast.

Tequila means run.

You may think this is for fun.
It may even start out that way. 
You dance in the garage.
Spar over a fire.
Talk a little shit.

Smile. This is how you bond.

Don’t stop moving. 

Try not to get too close.
Try not to graze the chin, cut the ear.
Try not to show your speed, your youth.

Do your best, the best you can.

Know inevitably, skin will meet skin.

He’ll go for the body then.

A little gatling.
A little bap bap bap.

Eyes up now.

Behind that fat is some muscle.
Don’t underestimate him.

Faded don’t mean defeated.

His speed: Beware the hook, beware the cross.
Look out for the corkscrew.

If he connects, don’t take it personal.
If he fights dirty, be bigger than that.

He’ll hiss, but you’ll heal.

This is about him, you know.

The parts of him he sees in you.

Don’t strike back.
You know he can’t take it.

You can’t take it either.
But you can take more than him.

Remember: The goal is to last.

The break will come fast.

Find your breath.

Take a minute.

Then forgive.

​



​You Mind Me

nobody tells you 
when somebody dies
a clock starts

you race against it
preserving photos
anecdotes
documenting smells
remembering kindnesses
cruelties
tics & twitches
oil for the lamp 
on the ofrenda

because let me tell you, friend
they’re not making any more of it
& you get a little smug
having prepared for this winter so well
but time is the most fascist of gods
harvester, thumb breaker, thug

it eats your lunch
fouls the water
& makes you ask
if any of this actually happened
& it makes you less certain
you heard what you heard
when you refused to listen
but apparently did

three words for someone’s entire existence

that’s it

pitch, timbre, tone

that’s it

but the worst part

or maybe the best

(I’ll let you decide)

is you knew these words

this person

was so much more

than what they left behind




Vincent Antonio Rendoni (he / him / his) is based out of White Center, Washington. He is a 2022 Jack Straw Poetry Fellow and the winner of Blue Earth Review’s 2021 Flash Fiction Contest. His work has appeared / will be appearing in The Sycamore Review, The Vestal Review, The Texas Review, Juked, and many other venues. He can be found online at www.vincentrendoni.com/writer and @warshingtonian.