WEEKEND MISCHIEF

Jackson’s poems throw off an antique light. They seem to come from a better, kinder time; they are unselfconscious in a way that makes the recycled feel new, like this might be the first time anyone thought to write about the consequences of overindulging in greasy fairground fare. Or that your eyes might get stuck if you crossed them (and it’s OK to laugh at the corny doubled-up typesetting joke). Or that listening to the ballgame on the radio on a summer night may be the apogee of something or other. Not all is sweet and pure: The haiku piece “Frost on a window / My fingers leave a message / For my brother—” is accompanied by an etching of the word “dumb” on the pane, and indeed Beech’s Quentin Blake–esque pen-and-watercolor artwork adds an enjoyably scruffy surface to the poems. In addition to the standard couplets, the poet works in a number of forms, including some smooth internal rhyme schemes. “Fix a toy / It breaks again / Nurse a bruise / It aches again / Dry the dog / It shakes again / Clean some mud / It cakes again.” Dogs and mud and bang-ups—sounds like the weekend. (Poetry. 6-9)