The Guardian of the Swings, a Poem

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.


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