Tire Swing

A free verse poem.

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