Catch Them All

All the age is in the scent. The plastic

smells 90’s, smells cardboard.

The yellow mouse with the red cheeks

waves from the cover–like security

at a museum. He asks about my dad

and I pretend not to hear, pushing

past the crimson binding. 

We’d spend time before bed

scrolling through the clear sleeves:

there were turtles with swirly

tails eating bubbles. King crabs with

giant pincers swiping at purple bats

without eyes. In fields above the shore,

a frog fired seeds from a bulb

on its back. I saw them sprout instantly,

latching onto a brown geode

with irritated eyes and flexing arms. 

Posing on the couch, displaying my own

toughness at Pop’s equally fracture geode.

I once came through

atop my father’s shoulders

and watched fire breathing salamanders

practice with their elders. Then, we found 

a cream-colored fox juggling 

haunted wisps with its multiple tails.

Magic always waited for us, 

even when I’d cut my gums

against foiling. Captured them

all in a bent gold tin, disappearing

in a box for twenty years.

Punching buttons into the latest

game edition, he asked why I hadn’t

“You aint beat that game yet?”

 And no, I hadn’t beat it; overcome

the challenge of proving myself

worthy. Couldn’t cheat code

pleasant memories deemed

childish. Over telephone signals I’d ask

about the box. Searched this railroad

home trying to track them down.

He said they were safe, 

said they were his, said he paid for them.

I could have been his muse too.

Flash Issue 13