Swings

My backyard was first
Grass tickling my bare feet
Skipping along the bottoms of my toes.
I broke my arm there; I always hurt myself
Swinging.

The fair was next, grownup kids
Having adult fun
Eating carnival food and drinking grownup things
When no one was looking.
Swings bigger and faster with bent depressed rails
Surrounding
Swings with muscle.
Head lolling over the trashcan after what was
Not nearly enough fun

And then later there was Paul and Janice
All the good times we should never have had
Feet dangling over the mattress.
You and him.

Knees loose belt tight up over the branch
Pulling hands ready to swing again
The Elm in my side yard.
Swing. For a moment sway and then still
Except shoelaces in the breeze then quiet hanging.
Like shirts and secrets in my closet.