They let you go -
holding on with one hand,
half holding on with the other.
You glide into darkness -
fading slowly until the orange,
glowing end of your lit cigarette
is all we have left of you.
You give it a flick
and let the burning ashes fall to the ground
just to hear us gasp at the thought
of you plunging to certain death.
You swing back laughing
at our concern.
We detect a beam of light approaching -
headlights.
What do these people think
when someone swings out
over the road from the trees?
Everyone around me laughs.
But instead, I imagine you
continuing on, past boundaries
of powerlines and treetops.
I picture you weaving through
the clouds and looking down on us.
And I wonder, if in fact this was a magic
tire - would you ever come back down?
Because if you had the chance
to fly, I'm not sure I would expect
you to return.

Then, with an offbeat
double thump, your feet hit the ground
sending the deserted tire spinning
wildly through the darkness.
I'm brought back, and you're still here
with me. But the question lingers -
if you were offered something better,
would you think to turn back
for me?