When I was young
I would wait
in line
to swing.
I remember
the screech
of rusted chains
and my own laughter.
Now,
in the dark
of my
apartment
I’m swinging
But
I can’t breathe enough to laugh.
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When I was young
I would wait
in line
to swing.
I remember
the screech
of rusted chains
and my own laughter.
Now,
in the dark
of my
apartment
I’m swinging
But
I can’t breathe enough to laugh.