Swing Set - Aug 25 2024

Swing Set

Aug 25 2024

The swing set is old.

Rusty metal poles

and heavy steel chains,

the seats

worn leather slings

slick with age.

A shipwreck,

marooned

in a sea of sand

that's booby-trapped

with scattered pebbles

broken twigs

and delinquent dog shit,

buried

like land-mines

just out of sight.

Wads of gum

that have turned hard and pink and dense

and will last for centuries,

and the usual assortment of stuff

dropped, chucked

or left behind.

The sand was smooth, deep, and golden

when they dumped it there,

fine-grained

and sun-warmed.

But now

wear and tear

and years of weather

have left it dark and coarse,

a thin patina of sand

over hard-packed ground.

I pass here everyday

but never see kids at play.

Sometimes

some teenagers smoking weed,

laughing and flirting

and blasting their music,

distractedly kicking at turds.

One

will be slumped on a swing,

peddling idly back and forth

pawing at the dirt.

I can't quite be sure

if it's world weariness I see

or a look of irony;

a smirking adolescent

too grown-up for such childish play,

but who sometimes secretly wishes

he could just be a kid again.

But mostly

the playground apparatus

stands in a field of weeds,

abandoned

as well as unsafe,

a relic

from back in the day

when even I was young.

Back when parents didn’t hover

and we were free to fail.

Back when no one raised an eyebrow

at the slippery seat

and unforgiving ground,

ot thought it odd

that the whole thing wobbled

like a sozzled drunk on stilts.

Soon enough

they’ll tear it down,

then put up plastic

with real padding

and caution signs.

But for now

it’s an abstract sculpture

stranded in time.

As well as a place to walk your dog.

And either pick-up after,

or, if no one’s watching

move discreetly on.