Swing Sets And Jungle Gyms Poem by Matthew Harris

(or swing sets and monkey bars)

A pitch perfect spring day
such as today April 8th,2022
within quaint hamlet
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
in close proximity within mind's eye
to Lake Wobegon, Minnesota
finds me reminiscing...

When, scads of light years ago
(half life of mein kampf) ,
while yours truly,
at that time a father linkedin
emotionally, mentally and socially
kibitzing with his two young adorable girls,
ah charming children indeed
(totally unbiased opinion that)
both sweet lassies to boot
figuratively got their daddy
tightly wrapped around all four

of their middle fingers,
matter of fact coercive Munchkin,
and her younger sibling Shayna Punim
both whose playful rebukes
courtesy daughters role playing
stern yet affectionate "mama, "
this papa feigned not to heed,
maybe begetting a boy
(cuz I ofttimes then
envisioned being pro creative
regarding bequeathing XY chromosomes

which engendered gifting us a son;
i.e. ideally conceived male child -
obviously at mercy
of biological random chance
genetic material receiving
proper allotment to garner
personal pronoun predicated
upon strict binary addressable as he/him) ,
when reproductive gamble roulette
never did yield nor diploid offspring
to carry forth Harris surname

constituting for good measure
genetic qua mixed breed,
would have elicited contrary response,
when playing reversed roles
whereby Matthew Scott the kid
(Billy me) not docile like his real self
and his imaginary male progeny
aplomb (fig your at Tivoli) found me
taking his fruitful lead
apple lee going bananas acceptable
make believe games regarding

above named adult playing
mischievous, innocuous, harmless
behavior committing neither
illegal transgression nor misdeed
from this grown man,
Sir Wren during self to architect
landing flat on me then
palm pilot sized bum
(measured by Andre the Giant)
as if drunk from mead,
where playfulness my creed

those were the days my friend...
years ago that streamed
flicked across thee ethereal net
at lightspeed, I experienced
manifest destiny nsync
with government assigned
mummy dearest head shrinker
taking eminent domain freed
Aladdin side me, those decades,
sans long gone fatherhood
plus roles he learned to succeed

recalling catfights ('twixt
daughters) he assertively refereed,
who cherished those
offspring, he did seed -
reckons adult opportunity
gifted yours truly mentoring
with excellence they did exceed
unlike yours truly
he rarely ever let loose maybe once,
the scairt (of his own shadow) boy inside
subsequently cowering frightened lad,

healthy development anxiety did impede
his spontaneity damned and leveed,
thus renaissance awoke
to travel back in time
reliving boyhood non disrupted,
and prior to parenthood,
would be less apt to concede
how natural to bond with progeny
fostered by being keyed
into esprit de corps of biological charges,
now grown without need,

nor want of his company (halt)
sudden embarrassment that person,
whose absence in
"My Struggle" did bleed
unstaunched sadness till affixing
available spare time with books to read,
and poems to write attempting to feed
an errant stray tear every now and again,
more pronounced as father time guaranteed
begetting precious bundles of joy,
how pedestrian days

of yore like a tumbleweed
(think T.S. Elliot)
rocketed them thru preschool, kindergarten...
high school, college now this doddering
doth oft attempt (with futility) to reach them...
even cherished memories insync
with Jack and Jill Truck klaxon dost recede.