How much more time on the swings?

[Jerrybaldy]

How much more time on the swings?
No care if it's tea time.
The sun is yet to reach terraced roofs,
Mother looks old in her headscarf,
stingers they grow by the dockleaves,
dogs are roaming unwanted.
I swing toward the afternoon moon,
worn sandles and an exposed middle toe
point to the branch
where I once sat with Sarah.
In twenty years from now
I will be my dad,
cocksure and brylcremed
like a kid in itchy trousers
longs to be.
The see-saw just became free,
who will see-saw with me?
Sky blue is succumbing to black,
I am flying high
into a moths and butterflies sky.
The world is mine dad and everything in it,
but how much more time on the swings?

[Hawkman]

Really nice moment this JB, supremely evocative. Personally, I couldn't wait to grow up - lol. I never went to the park with my dad, at least, not that I remember. I do remember him taking me to work though.

An aircraft hanger is awfully big when you're 6. I remember the propwash from a DC4, or was it a Constellation? Nearly blew me off my feet, and I had to be more than 50 yards away. I remember the smell of aviation fuel, oil and hydraulic fluid mixed with exhaust. Much more interesting than swings

Live long and prosper - H

[Jerrybaldy]

I never went to the park with my dad either Hawk.

[Bar22do]

Disquieting and bringing to (my) mind some strong memories.

I loved it all, Jerry, found particularly poignant:

"worn sandles and an exposed middle toe
point to the branch
where I once sat with Sarah."

and

"who will see-saw with me?"

the see-saw, as you use it is grand!

Good poetry here, and, of course, not the first time (it's an euphemism)!

[Catamite]

You've captured a moment lucidly heere. It makes a lovely read.

[Delta40]

Good read Jerry linking the past into the future using wonderful devices. I would probably change into a moths and butterflies sky to into a moth and butterfly sky.

[Haunted]

The child's voice here is very convincing, innocent mixed with angst. Time on the swing metaphor is spot on. This makes me sad:
Mother looks old in her headscarf

And here's a lovely image, unsightly shoes and odd toes and puppy love:

I swing toward the afternoon moon,
worn sandles and an exposed middle toe
point to the branch
where I once sat with Sarah.

I hope the narrator gets to stay on the swing a bit longer, growing up is not what it's cracked up to be.

It's a wonderful and moving read Jer and reminds me of how much I missed your stuff. Please post more. x