Five Poems by James Croal Jackson

 

Operatic Pop

 

I have lived enough to knife

through precious indifference:

time to say goodbye, sang

Andrea Bocelli through my

childhood’s echoing eardrums,

banging through the baseball

game of stressful situations.

How I overcame my fear of

public speaking was when

I was believed in, once,

to deliver Wayne’s wedding

from obliteration (green

in the cleaved landscapes

I scampered fully across)

and the contentment rings

high in vibrato today.

 

Cashing Out

 

White plate spinning

on the head of summer

god: boredom

 

in the breath of grass

illusion, green

in brain, in wiles, wet-

 

rag fingertips pressed

against nose, sanitation

breath, crater of spirit, the

 

less mortal, the mightier

morals, if what you have

is less than you entered.

 

 

Megan Visits Pittsburgh

 

the south side emits strong drug vibes

the incline’s return line up is half-an-hour long

we wanted to catch a slow 7:30 sunset

we caught twirling spiders over fast traffic instead

 

we were supposed to go to Trace but they close

at ten we go to Cobra for the purple Saturday

night and everyone dances the best they can

 

except for us. we watch.

 

 

Wall-Pounding Street-Squawking

 

Lobe, hold this half-

life, last hole on par–

rot later. Protest now.

 

 

Forty Years From Now, This Poem Will Make Sense (Disregard if Forty Years Have Passed)

 

I am sentient

enough– half-

asleep at the

wheel

 

I already

miss you

if I miss

my turn,

 

misguide

my controlling

hands into

another lane.

 

I have a tote

of sorrows

lugged

into a luggage,

 

third floor closet,

plastic blue bag

crinkling

in the night.

 

I wish–

I want–

you never

to read them.

 

This is a message

to me

from half

my current age–

 

though revelation

is what

I want

to avoid,

 

it is now

(was?)

true.

James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. His latest chapbooks are Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022) and Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021). Recent poems are in Stirring, Vilas Avenue, and *82 Review. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)