Swing Poem by Robert Sheridan

In solitude I sit
The images of children now
Buried beneath the snow
Laughter now missing
Removed from wanton air
Imaginations erased from
Playing in the sky
Firmed grips no longer needed there
Ideal recreation for dedicated moms
With noses nestled in books
Avoiding imaginary warfare,
Or flying trapeze artists with skinned knees
“Will you take your hands off? ” I ask
“Double-dare ‘ya” heard from friends below
‘Fly through the air with the greatest of ease’
Firm footprints now buried beneath the snow
Under bright sun, or moonlit sky
Sounds of make-believe screaming –
Parents make-believe hearing
But I listen for a younger generation to come along
Playing an adult stepping sideways –
As the playing child steps forth
Restless and twitchy at first in my seat
But then has the self-confidence –
Of a king or a queen sitting upon a throne
Entered into their own magical world
Splashing in fountains of mud with their feet,
As parents come running to scold
Now, snow-covered, in solitude I sit alone.

'2007'