Fall Guys

January 23, 2026July 7, 2023 / James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

gonna be a good dive
            pink windmills spin forever
                       I thanked you already
     I am always thanking you
consider this next apology all ready
               dizzy heights
                       I’ll file in the hi Sara folder
       maybe I will choose to drop
                       down to blue under-surface
                              where everyone’s at I miss that
           you mean I’m supposed to grab a tail
                     with these conveyor belts & keep it
         I don’t know my role
                             but the walls
                       have googly eyes & I don’t mean
                                            the stampede at the checkered line
             these same damn races every time
                      I’ve never watched the procession after me
          don’t worry you haven’t done anything wrong
                                                                                  yet
                          the situation’s complicated
                                                                        continue

(originally published in One, Fall 2022)

The Basement

September 14, 2025June 15, 2023 / James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

As a kid, when my friends came
over, we would become stalagmites
on brown basement carpet, Nintendo
controllers in hand. Screen’s cold
glow our lamp in the cave. My dad,
one morning, stomped down
the stairs and yelled to play

outside. We sprinted into daylight
and blackened our palms
with a depressurized basketball.

We made the net’s swoosh sounds
with our mouths, shooting the ball
into a nearby branch, since the hoop
was erected not on pavement but
in the backyard. A dirty game of
grass and dirt. Later I learned
my Uncle Zane passed away that
morning, My father must have
felt so temporary and small,
and I wonder how long he was
in the kitchen, seething about
our wasted time.

When he ordered us to go upstairs
and outside, he was doing
the best he could to keep
us from being underground.

(originally published in Hello America Stereo Cassette, Winter 2022)

Finding a Game Token in My Change Jar

April 16, 2025 / James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I shuffle through memory for
a single midnight. What did we do

at school? Redeem gold tokens
at Swings ‘N’ Things? Cleveland led

me to lake by leash. We listened to Feist
among lilacs and buttercups. We lived

near the airport, never flew. I shouldn’t
keep money for unusable transactions. What

a concept, after the drinking started. If darkness
is inevitable, please invite me to your party.

(originally published in Dear Reader, Summer 2021)

April 14, 2008

August 9, 2024December 15, 2022 / James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

after inflatables
        and Friday night I went to the House
        after making fun of King
        Kong with the brothers
                Dance Marathon we first talked
                then went to Pizza King with Dabs
        accepted oxygen in my water as trees
        dead napkins we returned to Constitution
                played sober via HORSE
                with bottle and recycle bin

earlier I helped Gary with the Poker Mixer
           it was either the cheesy bread
           or Gatorade that got me
     we went to Walgreen’s for beef jerky
           along the way we stopped at Sara’s for Orloff
           at Fisher’s for refried beans

(originally published in Literary Forest, Fall 2022)