Poem 'Swing-Play'

Swing-Play

My father hung a new front gate

with black tee-hinges,

bright countersunk screws.

New wood primed grey

then painted green

to match the sun blasted

house walls.

We used it as a swing.

back and forth,

piled high with kids.

my sister falls off,

with a bump on her head

the size of a seagulls egg;

parting her hair.

Her quietness a worry for

my parents.

But as soon as they go in

we begin to swing again;

wonderful.