Ph: Oklahoma: Cardboard Castles And Other Retreats Poem by Brian Johnston

My mother truly was a most creative creature,
And our backyard was just a child's dream place to play in,
From swing set whose design could access high tree branches
Ensconced in sandy playground, purposed child's own welfare
Protecting kids from what one could call ‘swinging error'.

A huge elm tree that shaded our backyard completely,
A swing with ladder, chin up bar, and pole for sliding
Its twelve foot peak was just below a branch quite sturdy
That access gave to higher limbs beyond controlling
And dirt-clod fort sixty feet up well worth extolling.

A wooden perch and orange crate box became a refuge,
By holding ammo and what treasures I put up there,
My dirt-clod weapons hauled aloft by rope and bucket,
With little fear of trespass by my younger sister,
And news and music courtesy of new transistor.

But pinnacle of backyard gifts was mom's creation,
Of children's houses built of wood framed card board panels
When I brought such a box from work for us to play in
By breaking down appliance boxes for new uses
Constructing what looked more like homes with no excuses.
 
A kitchen knife could easily carve door or window
With different boxes shape a home of many pieces
And like a crossword puzzle nail a home together.
A world of possibility was what she showed us
And fun will surely come to those who find accomplice.