By the Bootstraps

Nobody talks about it much
how that beanstalk grew again
with very few branches 
on its slippery stem.

Green shoots curled round 
fleecy clouds, where a young 
family of giants dwelled 
with a Common Twang

and a taste for fish and chips,
believing that they 
deserved every egg
their goose could lay.

Happy to forget
that their crusty bread
came from the bones
of those they’d left.

And just before 
the monsters slept 
Jack told his tale
of a hard-won quest.

Tristan Moss

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear them.