When the wind picks up you can hear the rusty squeal
Thousands of tennis shoes dug dusty paths into the lawn
Four decades ago the frame was a galvanized ideal
Last year the slats gave way to dust. Everyone was gone
Save one

Pokemon Go. Go to hell the old man muttered to himself
The sky could be blood red and no one would ever notice
Stooped over from the years like bowed books on a shelf
He loved her on the swing, entwined with its rhythm of life
Lost one

In his lonely place the old man plotted and schemed
New slats were bolted together with memory and steel
Outwardly crusty and gnarled but not what he seemed
As it swayed, a neighborhood and this one would heal
Saved one

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