mega man

I am in my blue childhood

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

bedroom, black Walkman
spinning CD-Rs of Mega Man
music. I want to dance–
anything but obsidian.
Scraped knees learning
to ride a bike– bloodstained
handlebars leaving the woods.
I can handle myself better
now, not always falling into
potholes I noticed yesterday.

Last week, driving home
from work in the city,
my tires hissed
as they failed to replicate
their cells, then blew out
in the middle of the road
in the warehouse district.

But I had music going–
OverClocked ReMixes
from Chrono Cross,
which got me thinking
about the Winds of Time,
parallel universes,
the inevitability of Lavos–

I had to call for help.
I spent green youth
cooped in front of
the basement television.

Now, if I were to fetishize
anything it would be
no real consequences–
to the cyclical parallels
of the universe.

(originally published in Dear Reader, Summer 2021)

Music Enough to Make One Mad

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

i walk in a line and shoot and shoot i walk in a line and shoot and shoot i walk in a line and shoot and shoot i walk in a line and shoot and shoot i walk in a line and shoot and shoot i walk in a line and shoot and jump and shoot and jump and walk in a line to music decadent in my brain on a loop a loop and through the gates it follows wherever i go wherever i slide i slide i slide inside and walk in a line and jump and shoot and walk in a line and jump and slide and the music is always the always the major key hooks and bridges no matter my life the music the same and i am so close and i am so close and i walk in a line and jump and

miss

 

(originally published in an alternate form in Dangerous to Go Alone! – a video game poem anthology)

Future Men

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment 
boys who would be future men 
squealed at new Pokemon.
mimicked moves, karate'd birds

flapping and winging and flinging
     OVER NINE THOUSAND!
miles per hour

and things
eight-dollar K-B Toys 
always break 

blue mega man 
onto metal bunk
bed swung 
                              CLANKCLUNK

sprints'a from kitchen, lotsa surge, 
hi-ye-ho bullet train 
                              small-scale rail

    the basement 
       digging
digging through purple bin
     TREASURE! TREASURE!

homemade pogs; on one side 
the cut-out cartoons 
from game manuals, Zero so cool
his long blonde hair, red armor
give me his sword no 
          it's mine 
          x-buster
    circular cutting 
rise to heroes controlled  
  control was so easy

yes, yes, think of life–
death in digital terms

those boys were the masters then

    the future men and their
    cold basement summers


(originally published in Suburban Diaspora)