Swing, swing

A poem a day? Hehehee, I have too many projects. I think I want to do it though. Should I make a new blog? Or is that too many. Maybe I'll just have it on here. Get ready blogger folk!

1:

I brushed off my tire swing.
Weeks of fallen leaves and rain covered the black rubber tire.
The three blue rubber strands that held it up delicately.
My late uncle put that swing up for me.
His strong arms spent all morning working,
while I waited,
pressing my nose up to the window.
Summer days spent there,
twisted, turned around.
Laughter in the air as we twirled in circles,
Around and around and around.
Now the tire has grayed,
Roughed up and worn,
It swings in the wind.
Back and forth,
Just waiting.
And on this day,
The sun is not shining,
The season is not summer,
But still, I wipe it down
And I sit.
Leaning back,
I let myself swing.