This Old Playground.
Take a journey sometime back to the playground of your youth, you will see how much smaller it has become, but oh, the joys you knew there, will come rushing ba
This Old Playground.
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This old playground was
a huge place of magical proportions
full of wondrous adventure
when I was a wee boy
flying high on a swing
that back then, was my jet plane
bombing enemy soldiers,
launching dust cloud explosions
off the tips of my almost
brand new P.F. Fliers.
Often I'd take a big hit,
anti-aircraft bombardment
just my friend tossing me
balls that I'd fail to catch
soon I'd tip back in my seat,
with toes pointed skyward
and my head sweeping way down,
hair just inches from dirt
then I'd sit up too quickly
overcome by sweet butterflies
doing flips in my tummy,
giggling out of control.
Till with practised finesse,
like a veteran pilot
I would bail out of trouble,
as I threw myself outward
on the next forward climb,
separating from contacts
in a vertical hurtle,
that no chains could confine
sailing out through the thin air,
to a great two point landing
standing safe on my feet,
"Oh, so Devil may care!!"
Then off to the monkey bars,
for a circus of one
the star of the Big Top,
hanging there upside down
by the crook of my knees...
it was face flushing fun
soon I was a fireman,
and alarms had just rung
sliding slick down that pole,
from the place I had hung.
Dashing off to the fire,
on that scary-go-round
rushing in speedy circles,
through the center of town
hanging on with a death grip,
over flashes of ground,
till it slowly wound down,
with a creaky old sound
like a dial on a time machine,
it stopped and I found....
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That I was a grown up
on a swing all alone
in a tiny place that once
brought joy near my home
surrounded by memories
of those many years past
from a kid's world where I
had become an outcast
all of...time passes on...
but the places we miss
often come back to haunt us
in visits like this.
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III
