pennsylvania

A Sale on eBay! A Newer Roomba!

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I am happy with my dumb robot vacuum
though I nearly clicked Buy Now
with PayPal credit, thirty-six dollars
over twelve months, which is a more
tantalizing mountain, in increments,
if that’s the route I want to go, though
there have been, in the past two months,
too many sudden changes in my life.
I am reinventing myself, forming
new habits– I make my bed each
morning now that you’re not there
still sleeping when I awake, and
shave my armpits when black hairs
unfurl around my arms. For a while
I have been a wild animal and you
asked who I am now last time
you were over, saying now that we are
not together, you have good traits,
which is a phrase to run through mind
I promised not to think about, but
it’s true, my date– the first after
our ending– asked what are your
goals for your time? And
I blanked, what are my goals?
I had already told her about poetry,
that I am always reaching
for meaning that isn’t there.
I answered I want to reclaim
myself, and she said that’s
a lofty goal, without knowing
what I meant. I don’t even
know what I meant, and that
has always been my problem.
And my allure. We sucked
down cucumber gin and
left each other. Hanging.

(originally published in The Indianapolis Review, Spring 2025)

I was going to throw away the water

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I was going to throw away the water
bottle then the river spoke: DO NOT
SPIT GUM INTO THE URINALS.
I was transformed. Red bumps rose
along the collar of my hand and I
scratched until boredom overtook
the revelation, the epiphany being
waste is measured in days I do
what I don’t want to be doing.
Rise with me past the prehistoric
era. I’ve chewed on ash rocks
for eternity. Dentistry
has not been kind. The drills
are getting longer, the routines
blurrier, my eyesight already
a ten twenty or whatever
the technical term for
poor, as in destitute,
as in the cursive graffiti
on the side of a brick
house on the road I live on,
the one-word message
sprawled in yellow
teeth I see every time
I smile widely
in a mirror,
any time I disappear
into a ripple.

(originally published in Unlikely Stories Mark V, Winter 2023)

Making Meaning Quarantine

/ James Croal Jackson / 1 Comment

this repetitive block of Earth
same moon I hear the fucking
crickets chirping in my LOUD
LAPTOP FAN fog fog forget-
me-not forget me I can’t even
see my fucking FAMILY MY
FAMILY LIVES other lives
in this forsaken simulation I
live wildly too I experiment
mac and cheese with minced
garlic and parsley but it is still
Kraft no not still it is MAGIC
anything that sustains me is
MAGIC no MAGIC is LOVE
what LOVE keeps me alive is
NECROMANCY okay now
watch me unscrew my head and
place it on your porcelain plate
and let me TELL you
a SECRET after DESSERT
                                   I’ll wait

(originally published in Oddball Magazine, Summer 2024)

Ratskeller

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Half-fear a chandelier falling
one’s made of tusks
beside portraits of goblins
on the wall time-greened
goblets containing mysteries
oil paintings can’t answer
I was reluctant but we
had a loud seat at the
last table, the closest
in our observable universe
(a prophet holds a decade
old brochure, taps her shins
the same dance I thought
I made up last week clapping
and hollering) the room a loud
bluebell wreaths of light
trees of a traditional
American mindset (all
garbled rebirth and sin)
What can’t an accordion
do? The accordion is new
a drone of pressed blackberries
on a machine in engineered air
in which your crumbled piece
of paper reverses its
timeline (the pen
we belabored to find
behind finished wood)
going as far back
as to the simple
piano (all string and
hammer) whoever
doesn’t sweat
by the end of tonight
isn’t worth my time

(originally published in Poetry Super HIghway, Fall 2024)

Take It Easy

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

the plan Sunday was take it easy
1 drink at the new brewery

instead we ran into 2 friends
then drank in the sunlight
among dogs on the patio

we walked five miles
through a cemetery
through the city
to another brewery

got drunk
on automated ordering
tech for our fast times

we packed Spider-Man 2 cards
we thought we would play

instead we drank with 2 friends
in 90 degree heat
taking it easy

(originally published in A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Winter 2023)

Observation (October 29, 2022)

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

This matches the atmosphere of pre-pandemic Ineffable Cà Phê–
seated at a mahogany table stealing vibes from strangers. Ahead:
a Jennifer Lawrence doppelgänger wearing monotone, who types
quietly in a portrait mode of cedar wall & soft lights, spooning phở;
next table over, prospective homebuyers: a Kyle Wolff in
a psychedelic Dixie Cup shirt alongside his partner, crumpled over
with a realtor who holds printed-out pages of wanted foundations.
The agent leaves and they scroll Zillow; there is a void where you
used to be; October sixty degrees spent inside, no regrets this
Halloweekend. I spy on everyone. Nebby is what Pittsburgh calls it.
I look up to see a white bowl covering a face, noodles dangling
off lips chased with chop sticks. The amber light’s flatness inspires.
Indie Interpol playlist a throwback to spending days at Muggswiggz
in Canton with Tony, soliciting strangers on Myspace for randomness.
I haven’t changed as much as I wanted. Crumbs from the bread
of my chicken bánh mì, scattered across my laptop. I swipe them
away, but dislodge more in the keys the longer I type.

(originally published in Picture Journal, Fall 2024)

Does Freezing Salmon Before Cooking It Eliminate Parasites?

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I am done with dating
apps. I would like to make

you dinner: salmon, rice,
brussels sprouts. You said

you know what I want
for my birthday over a bed

of nigiri and leaves. I rolled
sushi once in a cavern

of doubt. I couldn’t stop
shaking. The nervousness–

I mean, the lust– grew
on your vines by

your side door.
We had your home

re-keyed, then there was
trouble with the locks.

Couldn’t keep the lovers out.

(originally posted in Discretionary Love, 2025)