Marlin M. Jenkins was born and raised in Detroit. His poetry and fiction have been given homes by Indiana Review, The Rumpus, Waxwing, and Iowa Review, among others. He teaches writing and literature at University of Michigan, where he earned his MFA in poetry.
as kids we played super mario 64 and dropped baby penguins off of cliffs just because we could
don't lie you probably did it too
if you like me grew up learning
how to coordinate the red white
and yellow of a/v cables if you
like me woke early before school
to earn gold stars before earning
gold stars you did it: with mario
under your control you found a little
baby penguin in level 4 and found
a cliff and that was that—little
stream of code tumbling to the music
of a mother's metronome cry
so quickly out of sight and why would
the programmers have anticipated
the loopholes we found to slaughter
innocence not pausing even to say
the child's name or even learn it
(it’s Tuxie) and now adults (and also
black) we know
how easily one would kill another
when consequence is absent
when only the mother is calling
but there's nothing she can do
to the hero but watch him leave
and true: each time he returns
the child is back alive again again
but there's nothing stopping him
each time from killing just once more