Empty swings
go higher, higher
as a stark teeter-totter
rises and falls,
and the vacant slide
glistens in the sun, dusted
by skirts, and overalls.

The sandbox sits
disturbed with sneaker prints
and pails that over fill,
emptied by unseen hands,
between chuckles of glee,
heard when the trees are still.

There are no mothers
who come to watch them
enjoy their carefree day,
or to push a swing,for
the visitors disappear
when the fleshed come out to play.

04/30/2002

Posted on 04/30/2002
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce