The Guardian of the Swings
Do you still remember how it all began?
Dust off those old Nike’s
that twice-daily slapped the sidewalks of Manhattan
Once upon a time
Let me jog your memory.
Holding on tight to the cherub’s frame
amidst howls belted out with a frightening might.
Eyes gleam red with defeat
scheming their way through rush hour’s daily plight.
Waiting round the winding block the savior bids them hark-
Gleeful laughter born of innocence resounds
beckoning the little family into Dyckman Park.
Wistful clouds winking
Wilting and sinking,
Chubby stockings outstretched toward temptation
-rebuffed with a myriad of scuffs-
The cherub flails her legs up to the clouds
Pining to play patty-cake with those pillows of fluff.
Hot tears welling, threatening
Father on the right winds up the swing
Mother on the left twirls those chocolate curls
as the cherub clings on in anxious delight.
A long time from now you’ll gain access to a cloud of your own
Says Mother with a smile,
observing Sunday strolls in the park.
Cherub smiles back, claims
that when she lives among the clouds
her task will be, beyond a doubt
the guardian of the swings.
Both Mother and Father smile at one another
Father proposes they go grab a bite.
Planting her feet, the cherub steals one last peek
before the clouds turn down for the night.
Leaping down she flung her arms around
the two waists,
Hand in hand the trio walked out of the park
while the clouds receded behind Brother Sun.
Sweat beads run down three wide mouthed grins
without a care
Splashing along those city streets.