Monday, July 9, 2012
Swinging on a Tire
, 1959) Minnesota
I used to swing on an old tire (when I was a kid),
Roped around a thick branch of a large tree—
In the empty lot we called, Indian’s Hill:
Going faster back and forth—then with one
Leap I jumped off, flew to the ground—
I’d grow still and look up:
The jump did not hurt my feet or ankles
All that much, but the will to do it again
Was lessened, but I’d do it again, and again.
It’s kind of how my life’s been.
#3369 (Sunday) July 8, 2012