Old Tire

The old swinging tire hangs
Abandoned through the seasons
From a tall tree my brother used to climb
When we were young.


The leaves fall swirling
Like snowflakes to the ground
While the wind pushes the tire
And phantom children laugh.

Dust collects inside
While snow piles up on top
And the old tire remembers
Chubby legs clinging to its rubber.

Sunshine caresses silver webs
As butterflies kiss the dew of dawn
And the tire shivers in envy at the toboggan
Sliding down a distant hill.

5 thoughts on “Old Tire

    • I was standing in my room looking out my window into the backyard of the student house on the corner. I could see the tire swing going back and forth. Since its former residents moved, the old tire isn’t used anymore. I pictured phantom kids swinging back and forth on it, having fun. Then later I was going for a walk and saw some kids sliding down a hill on a toboggan.
      That’s where I got all this inspiration.

  1. You might like Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays.” The nostalgia in your poem reminded me of that in his.

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