The Old Tire Swing

A couple of years ago, I posted this poem about the swing in my back yard. Even though I wrote it in November 2013 and this is January 2016, I’m re-posting here because the swing is still there. My grandchildren out-grew him long ago but I keep him. Maybe he reminds me of the real life horse I rode and loved when I was a girl. Maybe I can still picture my grandchildren swinging through the air or saying, “Lift me up, Mem.” 

He’s stalwart and uncomplaining in spring storms, summer heat, when autumn leaves cover his saddle and when, as yesterday, he wears a sifting of snow. Sometimes the breeze moves him a bit, and he is once more that proud steed with a youngster on his back. With a little effort, I imagine I hear their squeals and laughter as they swing through the air, going their make-believe way as children do.

The Old Tire Horse

The old tire swing that resembles a horse

Hangs under the back maple tree. 

The children no longer climb onto his back

And he looks a bit lonely to me.

At one time my girl rode into the wind

On make-believe trips through the town.

She needed a boost to get onto her roost

And a helping hand to clamber down.

A few years later, my boy took the reins

And galloped to far-away places.

His short legs a-straddle the horses’ broad saddle,

He and the breezes ran races.

But my children grew tall and the horse remained small.

Now he swings in the winds of November.

Does the horse, just like me, think of what used to be?

Looking back, does he smile to remember?

–Blanche Day Manos