Today we present “Catch Them All” a poem by squidpizza, who writes mostly original short stories with a focus on gay sci-fi and fantasy, and also writes and publishes the gay fantasy web serial Gilded Rose on Royal Road. You can find more of his short stories on on bluesky and ao3.

Read by Apollo Brightflank, who Still Returns to the Prairie.

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If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with us.

https://thevoice.dog/episode/catch-them-all-by-squidpizza

You’re

listening

to

Poetry

Month

on

The

Voice

of

Dog.

This

is

Rob

MacWolf

your

fellow

traveler,

and

Today

we

present “Catch

Them

All”

a

poem

by

squidpizza, who

who

writes

mostly

original

short

stories

with

a

focus

on

gay

sci-fi

and

fantasy,

and

also

writes

and

publishes

the

gay

fantasy

web

serial

Gilded

Rose

on

Royal

Road.

You can

find

more of his

short

stories on on bluesky and ao3.

Read by Apollo Brightflank,

who

Still

Returns

to

the

Prairie.

Please

enjoy


“Catch

Them

All”,

a

poem

by

squidpizza

I

open

the

pack

of

cards

before

we

even

get

home,

reading

them

by

the

flicker

of

orange

streetlights.

I

sift

through

them

with

fresh

eyes

and

endless

curiosity.

The

numbers

are

meaningless

except

as

trivia.

Wailord has 200 HP? Sure, why

not.

But

each

little

drawing

is

a

window

into

a

better

world.

Where

being

obsessed

with

bugs

and

dinosaurs

and

strange

little

creatures

at

the

bottom

of

the

sea

is

not

only

tolerated,

it

is

celebrated.

Where

you

don’t

have

to

hide

the

parts

of

yourself

that

you

want

to

share

most

just

to

pretend

to

have

friends.

Where

the

most

important

talent

of

all

is

empathy

for

the

strange

and

inhuman.

Where

the

world

makes

sense.

Where

I

can

belong.

That’s

where

I

belong.

I

look

to

my

father,

driving

us

home.

He

and

I

will

lug

the

groceries

inside,

and

then

I

will

disappear

into

my

room.

I

feel

just

a

twinge

of

embarrassment.

I

shouldn’t

be

playing

with

toys

in

front

of

him.

He

told

me

once,

when

I

was

a

few

years

younger,

that

this

was

a

thing

I

would

grow

out

of.

I

remember

precisely

where

I

was,

what

I

was

doing,

what

I

was

talking

about.

In

one

hand,

Lugia, in

the

other,

Paras,

bonking

them

together

as

if

they

were

equally

matched.

Did

you

know

that

Paras

is

based

on

a

real

mushroom?

Isn’t

that

grand?

Isn’t

that

beautiful?

But

I’ll

grow

out

of

it,

he

had

said.

He

said

it

with

such

confidence,

such

offhanded bemusement.

It

cut

me

like

a

knife.

He

had

no

idea.

Still

has

no

idea.

I’ll

grow

out

of

it.

This

childish

thing.

This

phase.

This

fad.

He

had

no

idea.

I

was

a

smart

kid,

good

at

science

and

math.

Biology,

especially.

I

should

care

about

real

things,

tangible

things.

He

loved

that

I

cared

about

dinosaurs.

He

was

proud

of

that.

Why

was

he

proud

of

that?

What

was

the

difference?

What

was

the

difference?

I

had

no

idea.

I

vowed,

then,

in

that

moment;

a

solemn,

all-consuming

vow.

I

would

become

so

obsessed

with

this

thing

that it

scared

him.

I

would

never

grow

out

of

this.

I

would

never,

ever

give

up

on

this.

And

he

had

no

idea.

It

wasn’t

all

bad.

He

wasn’t

a

bad

dad.

He

humored

my

spending

habits;

bribing

me

with

cards

to

go

grocery

shopping,

taking

me

to

midnight

releases

of

whatever

game

was

fresh

and

new.

We

even,

once,

got

up

at 4

a.m.

to

drive

all

the

way

to

Grapevine,

Texas,

for

an

event

at

the

mall

to

celebrate

one

such

release.

I,

as

I

write

this,

still

have

some

prizes

from

that

magical

time

at

my

desk.

My

father

loved

to

humor

me.

And

that

was

precisely

as

far

as

he

would

go.

He

would

tolerate,

he

would

even

chaperone,

but

he

would

not

engage.

I

turn

away

from

my

father,

back

to

my

cards.

I

absorb

them.

They

are

my

universe.

Lunatone, Doduo, Relicanth, Masquerain.

I

pause.

Intimidating

Pattern,

declares

the

card.

Eyespots,

just

like

real

butterflies

have.

I

learned

about

them

on

Magic

School

Bus.

Isn’t

that

grand?

Isn’t

that

beautiful?

Just

like

our

world,

but

better.

Who

wouldn’t

be

captivated?

I

almost

speak

it

aloud,

to

share

my

realization

with

my

family,

but

I

think

better

of

it.

It’s

just

a

fad.

I’ll

grow

out

of

it.

I

am

silent

for

the

rest

of

the

trip.

I don’t

even

really

look

at

the

cards

anymore.

I

look

outside,

searching

for

stars.

The

streetlights

make

it

hard

to

see

them.

When

we

get

home

I

bring

my

precious

cargo

up

to

my

room,

safe

from

judgemental

eyes,

or

worse,

dismissive

ones.

It

is

safe

here,

where

there is

no-one

to

disappoint.

I

have

many

binders

of

cards,

organized

carefully

by

type

and

color.

Just

thinking

about

how

I’ll

have

to

resort

them

all

lifts

my

mood.

I

set

them

all

out

on

the

floor

and

begin

pulling

out

cards.

Everything

has

its

place,

and

must

be

moved

about

so

that there

is

no

wasted

space.

It

is

tedious

work,

but

I

am

content

to

do

it.

It

might

take

days

sitting

hunched

over

on

the

floor

to

completely

resort

my

vast

collection.

I

do

this

every

time

I

get

new

cards.

And

I

am

greatly

looking

forward

to

it.



This

was “Catch

Them

All”

by

squidpizza,

read

for you

by

Apollo

Brightflank,

who

Still

Returns

to

the

Prairie.

Thank

you

for

listening

to

Poetry

Month

on

The

Voice

of

Dog.