Stories

The soft, sweet voice of M.A.M.A., the Mammoth Automatic Mission Actuator, sings out, "Poet Babieeees, time for a mission."  The darkness fades away as the puffy sky blue clouds that make up the floor, walls and ceiling of the Nursery glow with sunny softness, revealing M.A.M.A.’s enormous flat screen embedded in a tall orange control panel.  Along the cloud wall directly opposite M.A.M.A., across the green toddler sized table and bright chairs in the center of the Nursery, three cribs automatically lower their side gates.

In each crib a sleeping Poet Baby wakes up with the grunts, groans, stretchings and scratchings of the adult trapped inside the baby body.  Still sleepy-eyed, Jack, Megan and Tucker jump down from their cribs onto the bouncy cloud floor and blearily waddle through the mess of strewn gizmos and gadgets, around the table, and over to the stainless steel refrigerator and the few pieces of construction paper stuck on it with magnets.  Jack yanks open the door, revealing shelves stocked only with milk-filled baby bottles, tosses a bottle to Tucker, one to Megan, and grabs one for himself before bumping the door shut with his diapered bottom.

"I remember when I had big teeth and a big expense account and could enjoy a big steak," grumbles Jack in his gravelly adult voice as they waddle over to their chairs at the low central table, all hungrily sucking at their bottles.

"I’ll bet you always left a really small tip when you did," teases Megan in a half joke that was all true.

"If I’d been a generous man in my adult life I wouldn’t be Poet Baby now, would I?" replies Jack.

"Well you’re generous with your snoring," grouses a still sleepy Tucker.  "Dude, that sound ain’t right."

M.A.M.A. coos in, "Please don’t say ‘ain’t.’  Remember, you’re a Poet Baby now."

"So our mission is like, grammar related?" asks Megan.

"When you need to show you’ve grown as a person it doesn’t hurt to use good grammar, but today your mission is to help London Hyatt."  M.A.M.A.’s big screen flicks on showing scenes of a young, impossibly thin and blonde socialite, surrounded by paparazzi, walking down a red carpet, getting out of a limousine, passing through opening velvet ropes, walking into a light pole, on a shopping binge.  "London Hyatt is a young woman who was born into great wealth.  Unfortunately she has never realized what a wonderful opportunity she has to help others.  Instead, she spends all of her time and money on herself.  Does this sound familiar, Jack?"

Jack sighs.

"I know what we can do," blurts Tucker.

"Not again," moans Megan.

"If we just insert her into my Legends of Lessons game at level nine I can bop her with the Mace of Meaning like this!"  Tucker grabs a M.A.M.A. joystick controller from the table and frantically jiggles it back and forth with his little baby hands while punching at the buttons.  On the big screen a pixilated London Hyatt transports into a video game environment where a pixilated Tucker approaches her with the Mace of Meaning and repeatedly bops her on the head until it bounces off of her head back into his and it’s "Game Over."  "Hey!" cries Tucker.

A wearily patient Megan asks, "Ok, Tucker, why won’t that work?"

"Because life isn’t a video game?", responds a dejected Tucker.

Megan and Jack give a half-hearted "yea" with applause for this lesson learned over and over again.

"OK, I swear I will get that right... Someday."

"We’re sure you will, Tucker," soothed M.A.M.A.  Then, with a little sternness in the voice, "Jack, we know you’ll do well because you wouldn’t want to disappoint M.A.M.A., would you, Jack?"

"I get it, M.A.M.A.," snips Jack.  "This is one of my lessons.  I get it."

"Good luck, Babies."  And with that M.A.M.A. goes into standby.

"All right," asks Jack, "how are we going to teach London Hyatt not to be the selfish pig I was?"

"Was?" asks Megan.

"Work with me here," replies Jack.

"Well, what’s her problem?" wonders Tucker.  "Why doesn’t she know any better?"

"Why didn’t you know any better, Jack?" asks Megan.

"I don’t know," confesses Jack.  "No matter how much I had I was bitter that someone else had more.  I thought people judged me because of it."

"And judged yourself," adds Tucker.

"Yeah," agrees Jack, "and using money was how I tried to prove I was better than everyone."

"Well that’s not London Hyatt," says Tucker.

"I think it’s because she’s never had to work," declares Jack.  "I’ll bet a few eighty hour work weeks for low pay and no benefits will teach her the value of a dollar."

"Or a million," snips Tucker.

"Maybe she’s just never seen how much need there is in the world," says Megan.  "I’ll bet she lives a very sheltered life."

Jack recalls, "When I was a hot shot CEO I sped through life in chauffeur-driven cars with the windows rolled up."

"Ok, so, let’s roll down her windows," enthuses Tucker.

"If we could get her out of her pampered little life," says Megan, "maybe she would see how easily she could help others."

"Come on, Megan" snarls Jack.  "Do you really think we’re going to hook her up with some poor guy and watch as she has a magical change of heart?"

"It’s better than getting her to take a McJob," says Megan.

"Look, she needs to start somewhere," says Tucker.  "Maybe the first time she meets a person in need is the first time she becomes aware of how much she can help."

Jack considers it.  "All right, sounds like a plan.  Poet Babies, let’s gear up."

*    *    *

Chapter 2 of 4

As the Poet Babies hop down from their chairs, Jack does a face plant and bounces up from the cloud floor to his feet with the nonchalance that comes from something that's happened many times before. They hunt around for their gear, looking under the table, cribs, through the half-filled toy chests along the wall throwing other things about.

"How come I can never find anything after a mission . . . ." wonders Tucker.

"I have to learn to live without fashion labels and gossip," retorts Megan. "There’s nothing about being organized."

"Speaking of labels, I assume London Hyatt wears only the most exclusive fashion. Is that going to be a problem for you?" questions Jack.

"I can handle it," Megan declares, but when Jack turns and resumes fishing through the toy chest her face shows she’s not so sure.

"Here’s the stuff!" exclaims Tucker.

Jack goes through the checklist, "cell phones, Bluetooth, laptops, ropes, tools, ba-ba." Looks at Megan and Tucker. "I get hungry."

"No drinking and driving," warns Megan.

"Come on, let’s go," urges Tucker.

The Poet Babies waddle over to the three strollervators - their flying all-terrain strollers - and store their gear in the webbing under the seats. They each hop in and as they buckle their safety harnesses the front trays turn to reveal joystick controls and large colorful buttons. With a push of a button they fire up and a gentle push on the joy stick shoots them off right through the cloud wall.

The Poet Babies fly down through the clouds and blue sky as a large city becomes visible beneath them. They descend, the city growing large, and aim for a particularly green section of town, swooping down over mansions, broad streets and lush trees. They come in for a landing on a millionaire's Main Street with a cobblestone road and marble sidewalks, bright flowing flowers and fancy stores. They pull up outside the haute Dulchi Banana store, unbuckle and hop out. They pad around, looking through store windows, unseen and unheard by the people around them.

"She’s got to be here somewhere," searches Tucker, weaving between the shoppers and tourists until he finds not London, but Megan standing in front of the window, dazed and drooling at the fashion mannequins, hyperventilating faster and faster and faster. Tucker pokes Jack and points to her. They know she's struggling and run over to see how she is.

"We might have to go in every store," states Jack.

"And check all the dressing rooms," adds Tucker. They wonder if she’s up to this challenge or if it’s just too much for her.

"Inner beauty, inner beauty, inner beauty is all that matters," Megan chants as she tears herself away from the window with deep, controlled breaths. "I'm ok. I'm ok," she pants. "I can do this."

Just then a whirlwind of paparazzi and flashes bursts out of the store. At the center of the pack is a swirl of shopping bags and in the eye of the storm is London Hyatt. The tall thin blonde stops to pose as cameras flare like fireworks and photographers call her name, "London! London! Over here! Look this way!" She holds up her bags and smiles, "Only the most expensive things for me, boys!"

A television camera crew breaks through the crowd. A breathless reporter wants to know, "London, how do you stay so hip?"

"The same way I do everything - with lots and lots of money!" crows London with a spin. And then she’s off through the pack, marching down the sidewalk and mowing down the other shoppers and tourists with her bags before they open a path for her. The Poet Babies waddle after her.

"Look at all that," says Megan. "And Dulchi Banana charges $500 just for a hair band."

"Dude, I lived in like, four t-shirts and two jeans. What does she do with all that clothes?" puzzles Tucker.

"I'm guessing she just does this," says Jack, "waives her bags around to brag about what she can buy and others can’t."

"Like your third wife?" pokes Megan.

"I, I guess," admits Jack.

"Come on, guys. Let’s pick up the pace," and Tucker pushes them faster.

The Poet Babies catch up to London at a valet parking stand as her enormous Chummer 3 is brought up. London walks to the back of the car and tries stuffing her bags through the closed rear hatch, surprised the bags don’t go in the car. She pushes the bags against the window repeatedly, getting more and more flustered, "Why won’t these go in?!" The valet comes around the back, holds up the key and pushes the trunk release button. The rear window pops up and suddenly the bags go in! "Oh!" exclaims London. "Car, you better behave or I’ll get a new car."

"Ok, seriously, she cannot possibly be that sheltered," snarks Megan.

The valet holds up the key for her. "What’s that?" she asks. Then suddenly concerned, "Car, how come you’re not going rumble, rumble? Are you sick?" The valet’s jaw drops down to his chest. He pushes it back up, then runs back to the open driver’s door and re-starts the car.

"This girl cannot do a thing for herself," judges Jack.

"Oh! There you go. I’m glad you’re feeling better," says a relieved London. She walks around and gets in the driver’s side and then just sits there. The Poet Babies run around and jump up and hang on the outside of the driver’s window as the valet shuts her door and she just sits there. The GPS navigation screen in the center consol lights up.

"Hi, London. This is car. Please put on your seat belt."

"It always wrinkles my clothes," pouts London.

"I know, sweetie, but car can't go unless you make it all clickey."

"Maybe her parents never taught her better?" hopes Tucker.

"Good heavens, she’s twenty five!" blurts Megan.

"Well, I suppose then it’s her choice," responds Tucker sadly.

"Car, I’m hungry," complains London. "Let’s go to Splago’s for lunch."

"To get to Splago’s, gently step on the go pedal and turn this way," says car as a big arrow blinks to the right on the screen. As the car pulls away, the Poet Babies drop down to the ground. Megan and Jack make for the sidewalk, but Tucker sees a sports car zooming toward the valet and braces for impact. He catches the bumper with his hands and goes flying with a "yeeeeeeeee haaaaaaaaaa!" tumbling down the road and popping up with his best floor exercise pose. "Ta da!"

"Will you stop playing!" scolds Megan.

"Dude I never get tired of that."

"Can we focus on London," chides an annoyed Jack as they trot back to their strollervators. "How are we going to ’roll down her windows’ and get her to talk to some needy guy?"

"It’s not going to happen around here, that’s for sure," says Tucker.

"Maybe you and your joystick could steer her some place where there’s more opportunity for learning," suggests Jack.

"I could totally do that."

*    *    *

Chapter 3 of 4

"Let's roll." The Poet Babies buckle in their strollervators and fly off to catch up to London's car, hovering right above her.

"Car, I'm really hungry. Are we there yet?" whines London.

Tucker lands on the roof of her car and pulls his laptop out from the webbing under the strollervator. "I'm hacking into her GPS system now."

"Great," says Jack. "Let's turn her to the other side of town."

"Reprogramming," grunts Tucker. "Got it."

Car suddenly calls, "Turn left here. We have a little ways to go."

London turns the car left. The scenery shifts quickly from the wealthy, green part of town into a depressed neighborhood, the Poet Babies following all the way.

"Megan," Jack orders, "fly ahead and scout a location."

"Hey!" snaps Megan. "You're not the CEO of me or anyone else now, diaper boy. Try saying 'please'."

"I'm sorry, Megan. I'm supposed to know better than that but I'm nervous because this is one of my missions."

"That's ok, Jack. We all have a lot of learning to do."

"Let's do it together."

Megan smiles in agreement and she and Jack fly off. As soon as they go, Tucker climbs down to the front of the Chummer's hood and rides it like a surf board.

Further on Jack and Megan spy a deserted, dilapidated block with boarded up buildings and vacant lots. An Old Man pushes a shopping cart filled with his belongings.

"Let's take a look at this guy," suggests Megan. They fly down, landing on the sidewalk nearby. They watch as Old Man stops next to a panting dog lying in the sun.

"Hiya girl," greets Old Man, petting the dog. "Are ya thirsty?" Old Man fishes a bottle of water out of his cart, cups his hand in front of the dog and pours some water out for the dog, who happily laps it up.

"That's a nice thing to do," observes Jack.

"Don't you think it's a little more than nice considering where he's at?" asks Megan.

Jack looks harder. "It's hot out. He's homeless and can't just turn on the faucet for water. But he's sharing what he's got with a dog. I probably could've learned something from this guy."

"Tucker," calls Megan, "lock into our position and guide London here."

Tucker, still riding the nose of London's Chummer, calls back "You got it." He futzes with the laptop and the Chummer turns again.

Meanwhile Old Man pats the dog's head and it runs off barking happily. "Good doggy," says Old Man as he pushes on past Megan and Jack just as London's Chummer pulls up about half a block down. Jack and Megan sprint ahead to meet the car.

"That's good right there, Tucker," calls Jack.

Tucker pushes a few buttons and . . . .

"Stop here," announces the car. "We've arrived at Splago's." The car stops and Tucker jumps down on the sidewalk next to Megan and Jack. They expectantly wait for London, watch Old Man slowly approach, and look back at London sitting in the car, sitting in the car. Suddenly the passenger window rolls down and London peers out.

"Got the window down!" brags Jack.

"It doesn't look like Splago's," wonders London. "I better call my sister, Picky."

"No!" cries Jack.

"I got it," says Megan and she jumps up to the open passenger window, flings herself through and lands on the passenger seat. Just as London fishes her cell phone from her purse Megan pushes it out of her hands and under the seat.

"Oh butterfingers!" cries London.

"You mean 'babyfingers,'" replies Megan, who starts looking through London's purse. "Hey, she's got a load of Moldiva chocolate in here!"

But London still puzzles, "Well if this is Splago's how come my door isn't opening?"

"Of all the ridiculous people in the world," mumbles Jack as he jumps over the car, catches London's window ledge with his one hand, pops the door with his other and kicks it open. "Your highness," bespeaks Jack.

"Oh, I guess it is Splago's," says London, as she grabs her purse, gets out and walks to the curb, leaving the car running for the valet who isn't there. Jack follows, but Megan has spotted London's shopping bags in the back.

"Now for some low tech navigational hacking," boasts Tucker. As Old Man reaches them Tucker soccer kicks a broken slat of wood into the wheel of Old Man's shopping cart, jamming it to a stop right next to London. Old Man mutters to himself and shuffles around to the front of the cart. London stands still looking for the entrance to Splago's. The two ignore each other.

Jack is getting concerned. "It doesn't look like this meeting going to happen."

"We need to do something that'll get these two talking," ponders Tucker.

Jack thinks aloud, "Megan could- Hey, where's Megan?"

Both exclaim, "London's shopping bags!"

As Old Man reaches down to remove the wood slat from the wheel, Tucker calls out, "I'll try to keep the Old Man here," and springs to the wood slat, bracing himself into it while Old Man tries to pull it free.

"I'll help Megan," cries Jack as he leaps toward the Chummer.

"Darn thing stuck in here won't come out," mutters Old Man. It's a tough fight and Tucker struggles against him.

"I'm not sure how long I can hold this!" yells Tucker.

Jack hoists himself through the passenger window and climbs over the rear seats to find Megan sitting in the aftermath of a Christmas morning frenzy of ripped open boxes and bags and clothes strewn everywhere.

"Look at these designer clothes!" Megan pants. "Here's a Smucci! And here's a Pravda! And this, this is a Vercrappe straight from Milan! And all I have is a stupid plain diaper."

"So you're telling me you're a stupid plain person?" snarls Jack.

"Yes, obviously I'm just a stupid plain person," snaps a tearful Megan.

"Ok, sorry, that wasn't helpful," apologizes Jack. "Megan, you're the same person inside regardless of what you're wearing. Diapers, diamonds, dungarees - doesn't matter. You're the same inside. It's true for you. It's true for everyone."

"I know, I know," cries Megan, "but I still look at these and I want them and I feel they'll make me special and it's wrong it's all so wrong."

"The biggest step is knowing that what you want isn't always what you need," encourages Jack.

Megan takes a deep breath, gets up, and kicks the clothes off of her, "Why is it so much easier to hear the lesson than it is to really learn it?"

"Because you're human."

Megan holds up her baby hands with a "huh?!"

"At least on the inside."

Tucker calls from outside, "I can't hold this much longer."

"What's happening outside?" asks Megan.

"We need a diversion to get these two talking."

"Got it!" Doing her best Mary Lou Retton, Megan runs and vaults over the rear seat back, summersaults over the driver's seat to a hand stand on the steering wheel, then swings down and kicks right into the horn.

HONNNNNNNNNNNNNK!!!!!

*    *    *

Chapter 4 of 4

She kicks up and then comes down on it again.

HONNNNNNNNNNNNNK!!!!!

"Lady you're car is honking," states Old Man.

"Car does that when no one comes for it," chirps London.

"You leave it running like that," says Old Man, "and someone for sure will come for it and take it away, for good."

London, completely puzzled by what's happening, stands there. Old Man walks around to the driver's door.

"Hey. . ."

Old Man closes the windows, turns off the car, shuts the door - just as Megan and Jack jump out - and locks it. He walks back to the sidewalk and hands London the key.

"What are you doing down here anyway?" asks Old Man.

"I was doing some shopping and went for lunch, but I think I'm lost." For the first time she looks at Old Man, at his shopping cart, at Old Man, at his shopping cart.

The Poet Babies jiggle his cart chanting "say it, say it, say it, say it."

Jack pleads, "Come on, London, I need this."

London looks again at Old Man's cart and cheerily chirps, "You've been shopping, too."

The Poet Babies cheer and high five.

"Shopping!?!" exclaims Old Man. "This is everything I own. This is my whole house, right here in this cart."

"I don't understand. Everything you own?" asks London. "How can this be everything you own?"

"You know," laughs Old Man, "I ask myself the same question."

The Poet Babies climb on top of his cart to watch.

"But, but," stammers London as she looks around and begins to truly see where she is. "Splago's isn't anywhere around here, is it?"

"Nope," says Old Man. "Only place to eat down here is the shelter and they're running low on food because donations were short $500 this month."

"Running low on food because of $500?" wonders London. "But $500 is what I spent just on-"

With a hep and a hup Tucker and Jack join hands, Megan crouches on them and they fling her up and over London knocking the Dulce Banana headband into Lodon's outstretched hand. Holding it in her hand, next to Old Man's cart, she begins to see the difference between what they have.

"Well, I guess it's not much for some folks." He reaches down and Tucker lets him remove the slat from the wheel. "Got it. I better get moving if I want lunch. Good luck to you."

"Is that it?" asks Jack. "Is that all we can do?"

"The chocolate," says Megan.

The Poet Babies jump down off the cart and huddle under London's purse. They take turns jumping up so their heads bang into the bottom of her purse.

"Hey, wait," calls London, fishing through her purse and holding out two bars. "I have some chocolate."

"Well I don't want to take your candy if you're hungry too," says Old Man.

"I, I have plenty," says London.

"Why don't we share," suggests Old Man. He takes one of the bars. "Thank you."

Jack declares, "I think we're done here." The Poet Babies load up their strollervators.

"You're welcome," says London. She timidly waives goodbye as he pushes along.

The Poet Babies climb in their strollervators and take off, hovering to watch London look at her key, walk over the car door, unlock it and get in.

"Let's go," says Megan.

They fly up and away, high, high over the city and suddenly disappear into a sky colored cloud. They pop through the Nursery's cloud wall and settle down to a landing.

Jack crowes, "That was great!" as they unbuckle and climb out of their stollervators, dropping their equipment all over the floor. "I never thought I'd feel so good about getting someone to do something so small as sharing a candy bar, but I do."

"It wasn't small," says Megan. "For her that was a big first step. It would have been for you, too."

"Yeah," says Jack, "that would have been a big deal for me. I think. I mean I hope it would have been something that made me consider others a little more."

"Think London will once she's back in her own little world?" asks Tucker.

M.A.M.A. boots up, "What do you think, Megan?"

"Her world is awfully tempting," laughs Megan. "But I think, I think if you want to change, and you really take it to heart, then you can change." She looks at Jack, "And it's a lot easier to do with a Poet Baby by your side."

"Absolutely," agree Jack and Tucker.

"You did well today, Poet Babies," says M.A.M.A. "Is there something we should put on the refrigerator?"

Jack pumps his baby fist, "Yes!" Megan and Tucker happily pass him some construction paper and crayons.

"What was our lesson for this mission?" asks M.A.M.A.

Jack says it out loud as he writes, "Wealth is your opportunity to give."

Megan and Tucker applaud.

The Poet Babies hop down from their chairs and waddle over to the fridge. With pride Jack finds some unused magnets on the refrigerator door and sticks up his saying. There are pats on the back all around as the Poet Babies grab some bottles and wander back to their cribs.

"Did you see me surf the hood of London's Chummer?" boasts Tucker. "That was so cool."

"I was more worried about Megan wiping out in the back," teases Jack.

"What, and give up my beautifully tailored diapey? No way," says Megan with a yawn. The Poet Babies climb into their cribs and the gates automatically rise.

"There's another big mission tomorrow," coos M.A.M.A., "so sleep well, Poet Babies."

The Poet Babies settle in to sleep, with a few grunts and snorts from Jack, as the glimmering clouds in the Nursery slowly fade into a starry night sky.

*    *    *

Watch for our next exciting mission!