The Tire Swing Poem by Zach McClure

He gazed across
The wind swept meadow
To a lone tree
Standing there

Its jagged, silhouette
Surrendered ‘neath
A sky more firey embered
Than
his flaming hair
which crowned him then

but-
it was neither tree
nor sky
that stole his youthful eye.
It was
The tire swing
Whispering, promising,
“With-me,
you can fly! ”

The boy lept
Across the meadow
Like a deer panting
For water,
Till at last
He climbed aboard his dream.
His round, black, holed
Flying machine.

Then, holding tight,
And bending to and fro
With all his might
Began to drive
Began to glide against
The sinking sun
Till
It was night outside


Across the starry,
Littered sky
Beneath the moon’s
Soft lullaby
Ascending ever higher
Make believing
He’s a flyer,
He smiles,
As he tips a wing.
He is an aviator.
He is the sky king!
and
All because of one,
Old tire swing.