Game 89

Round Two - Game One
CHI 99               CLE 92

It is many years later.
Jack sits at his mother’s bedside
Listening to her breathing--
Hearing it become more shallow.

The house is quiet
Other than some birds
Picking at the rotten stump
Out back.

Still oozing
Cloudy milky something--
Like puss.

And sprouting
Weird little sprouts--
Like extra fingers.

Still.

After all these years.

The golden goose long dead
(God save the Golden Goose),
Its feathers plucked
And sold for medicine money.

Mother struggles up
On her elbows
And turns to face him

Jacky,
Baby (an old Irish whisper),
I know I don’t tell you enough
But I’ve always been very proud of you.

You’re a good boy.

Even before--
When I was a great beauty…

When Becky was fat
And gushing milk--
And you were just a baby--
     Laughing.
     Always.

Even once your father left
And times got hard--
You never asked for anything.

You were a happy child.
And not afraid
To take risks--
Even before...

But looking back,
I wish you’d of just swallowed the beans
And become the giant.