I’d hate that porch swing,
where we both sat, laughing as the rain
came down around us,
but why waste hate
on sunwarmed slats of wood?
It is time to make new memories
and move on, I know.
I know. But it still
That is nothing new.
Swings never go anywhere,
Just back and forth, chained in place.
Caught, like mebetween a diamond and a naked hand