Like Rabbits

Jack lays back
        on his bed
and thinks back

Four generations.
“I’ve started something now.”
Children of children of children.

He counts how many grandchildren he has.
I ask their names.
Now he struggles.

“There’s so many. Like rabbits.”

Jack is amazed, every day.
“My children. Pensioners!”
He shakes his big, blotched head.

“I still feel like I’m fourteen.”
Jack laughs remembering the games he played:
the doors knocked on, windows smashed,

witches found in overgrown gardens.
A long time ago, remembered
easier than he can his own grandchildrens’ names.