pokemon center

my pink new york. grime window
& police horse bridle. my parents 
in their smudged white sneakers. 
we to the bieber bus
from kutztown to the city to see
the pokemon center. i dreamed
of real pokemon. animals i could use
to live a life without desks & fire drills.
packing myself up at the age of ten
to set off alone.
what kind of magick are we trying
to enact on children when we conjure 
stories into being?
mascot suites & princess illusions.
here, the pokemon center flourished.
i could almost believe it was real,
a place where I could stay long enough
that once i stepped outside, 
i would be in the kanto region.
i would have a pokeball in my pocket 
& trainers would approach me to fight.
instead, i wept when it was time to leave.
held tightly too the stuffed creature
my parents had gotten. even all these years later
i remember the sliver of me
that knew none of it was real. that hoped
i could make it real if i just remained 
a few hours longer. outside the windows,
the pigeons took flight. a hotdog vendor
wiped sweat from his forehead. 
a liminal space of fantasy breathing
that never tips into fullness. i thought,
give me the world. give me the pokemon world.
we ate ice cream on the sidewalk 
when we were done. sticky sweet fingers.
the late spring sun. "can we come back
tomorrow again?" i asked my father,
already knowing the answer. 
the bus arrived like a broken window.