It’s evening on a summer night
a small girl and her granddad on the porch
share the breeze and waning light.
He sits and rocks and reads to her. Already weak from humid heat
and grandchild riding up and down,
a little creak and then a crack,
the rocker’s runner gives a sound. Like a loose tooth the tongue explores,
the little girl climbs once more
wiggles up, jiggles down.
The runner makes a louder, warning sound. Warm, sweet breath on granddad’s neck,
too fond of her he cannot stop the ride.
And she, unaware of the rocker’s sink,
rides a pink unicorn through the sky. The rocking chair in morning light,
no longer rocks sits by the road
one runner gone. Yet years from now
it rides again, memory of days of halcyon. Copyright©2019 Linda J. Himot
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