My brother Aaron swung me high and hard
Toward tops of trees, until I almost flew
Into the blue of sky above our yard.
I peaked, then roller-coasted down and through
My squeals that sprinkled on the distant ground.
I tilted, lurched, then fought to grab the rope
And stop my fall. The tire spun around
With wild abandon. I could only hope
That God or Aaron (either one would do)
Could soften up the oak tree’s matchbox bark
Which planned a terrifying rendezvous
Somewhere within the tire’s final arc.
I closed my eyes and never found out why
The oak tree stepped aside to let me by.