grinding the pavement
it was one day
but now it hangs high
from a branch
tightly tied
with an itchy rope
yellowish-white, the rope
but it itches the hands
must hold tight
sitting in this loop of rubber
swaying back and forth
ebbing through the wind
flowing faster and faster
until my turn is over
my brother grabs the swing
to a halt, I climb out
and wait for my next turn
in the tire swing
* Honorable Mention in Crazy Creative Colours Contest 6/2012
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.07 seconds at 3:16pm on Nov 21, 2024 via server WEBX1.