In the photograph, you are on a swing in city park,
the yellow paint on the support bar is worn and flaking,
you grip the chain, suspended on the tiny rubber seat
your tall man body mashed.
You’re smirking so wide your dimple dances with the light in your eyes
Our first French kiss lingered in the air,
as our future flashed fireworks over your head.
.
.
This photo sits on my desk, and makes me smile every day.
Shawn L. Bird 