“You’ve Got it All Wrong” by Ken Tomaro.
“I cleaned the apartment today,
changed the lightbulb in the refrigerator
and made stew from the leftover lamb my sister didn’t eat
I’m tired, it’s cold and dark here
and I am afraid of what’s out there
beyond the glass of the balcony door
beyond the neighbor who yells at his wife,
and kids, and brother
I’m afraid I’ll never find
what it is I don’t even know I’m looking for
or maybe I’m afraid
I won’t be able to change those things that need it…”
This is Ken Tomaro, so easy yet so profound.
Ken Tomaro’s collection “You’ve Got it All Wrong” explores nostalgia, loss, and the absurdities of existence through poignant, reflective poems. It is a collection of poetry that resists lyric ornament in favour of blunt realism, irony, and dark humour. Written in a conversational style, these poems traverse memory, absurdity, faith, mortality, and working-class identity.
The first poem, “I remember the distinct aroma,” begins with the scent of Polish doughnuts, using this family memory to reflect on the passing of time, the loss of childhood innocence, and fleeting moments that cannot be reclaimed.
“I was robbed” is a fierce monologue where Tomaro likens life to a thief: it brandishes a gun, steals sanity, dreams, and certainty, yet he refuses to yield.
“Playing God” conjures the fantasy of manipulating fate, depicted through cars on a highway—miniature models in the mind’s grip. “Summer of ‘89” is a lyrical meditation on teenage nights at Lake Erie.
“Life is very much a horror movie” is a standout poem that likens office life to an unending nightmare.
“If I believed in God” and “The big God damn bang” both question religious belief, exposing the flaws Tomaro perceives in the idea of a universe created by an indifferent force. In contrast, “Chickens” injects humour with its absurd image of chickens wandering a city road, disrupting the poet’s brooding thoughts.
“We all carry anger.”
A compassionate poem speaking to grief, persistence, and the will to keep breathing. “Make it stop” is among the darkest, most unflinching poems:
“word of warning –
It’s not a happy ending.”
“Breathworks” is a brief yet powerful poem that reminds us that trauma begins at birth. “Bad genes” is a satiric poem wrapped in humour and rage. Tomaro’s bluntness, “fuck all of you!” is cathartic. “Rosemarie” is a deeply nostalgic and tender poem that evokes memories of childhood winters, fireplaces, and Christmas music from 1976.
“Sometimes a dog’s butthole” leans into shock value, but its humour reveals genuine affection for Cleveland, using the city’s quirks—potholes, pierogies, grey winters—to illustrate imperfect love.
“A glittering shitshow of smash-faced adults” distils Tomaro’s outlook: absurdity, bluntness, and unyielding truth. The poem confronts adolescence, broken towns, and fragmented adulthood.
“Beyond the Glass” is one of the most vulnerable poems by Tomaro. It captures the threads of loneliness, seasonal depression, and the fear of the unknown that linger in the human heart. The “cold and dark” beyond the balcony glass becomes a metaphor for uncertainty and existential dread. “Well, hello” is the closing poem. It is structured around the word “well,” and ties together themes of health, survival, and cautious hope.
Tomaro writes with honesty and sharp wit, never sugarcoating his words. His poetry speaks to those who want the truth, humour that doesn’t hold back, and a clear-eyed look at life. “You’ve Got It All Wrong” reminds us that being human means living with contradictions and sometimes finding reasons to laugh anyway.
“You’ve Got It All Wrong” isn’t for readers who want romance or flowery language. Tomaro’s poems are stripped down, gritty, and often hit hard. He writes about life’s odd moments, the pull of memory, and the humour that helps us get by. This is poetry about surviving with honesty and wit, not by escaping reality. Fans of Charles Bukowski, Diane Seuss, John Prine, or anyone ready to face life’s absurdities with a grin must grab a copy:
“and it’s time for your annual wellness check/ to make sure you and your doctor/ remember each other’s faces.”
