By Preston Caruso
Pokémon, Pokémon, Pokémon
It’s always about Pokémon
Shoulders stick up towards the clouds, eyes dart to and fro.
Comments come like a little wisp
Not long enough to be enjoyed as any sort of respite.
Leaving only painful shivers.
Different names, different games
But it’s all just Pokémon to me
The sounds of explosions and heavy sword slashes and sugary reward music fill the air
Like the muffling curse of distance being shoved in your ear
Blasting from speakers wired by withered, calloused little hands
While grown, healthy, meaty hands misshape the plastic
I can’t snide, or sneer like the professors
Who forgot all the hours dissipated by Dateline and Murder She Wrote
I just resent all the friends, all the words, all the times murdered by this impenetrable wall
A wall of interest, a wall of money, keys shaped like frivolous Japanese electronics