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Yellow Plastic Swing

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I am at home on the yellow plastic swing.
I’ve been here many times before.
It’s almost like the swing is an old friend,
greeting me as I plop down onto the plastic
that securely cradles me.

I look at my feet, caked with sand and dirt
as they kick towards the big orange sun
who is smiling at his reflection on the water.

My friends run and play on the slide and sand,
carefree, laughing, building sandcastles.
But nothing can divert me from my journey
to the sky.

My swing is a rocket ship!
Taking me higher and higher, up and up
into the fluffy white clouds.
I am a bird flying free!
No one can stop me as I continue to soar

I cut through the heat of the late afternoon,
making my very own windstorm; its getting cooler.
Is it my efforts, or just the setting of the sun?

My heels brush the sand as I return to earth.
I slow, slow, slow, stop.
Regretfully I hop off the yellow swing and
take in the salty scent of the water, the grilling fish,
the big bonfire, the s’mores.

I hear my parents call my name.
“It’s dinner time!” they cry.
I run to join my family, skipping joyfully
as another summer day comes to a sweet
close.





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