a playtime in the rain (1958)
A memoire
I remember an oak tree
on the edge of the ravine
with a looped hemp rope dangling
from an overhanging branch
we used to swing on over
the rushing boulder river,
whooping ‘Geronimo’ while
scared to death. hiding our fear
as being called a chicken
was a fate worse than dying.
playing one rainy morning
some big kid jumped the queue
taking control of the rope
he beat his chest Tarzan-style
impressing his girlfriend who
thought he looked magnificent
and blew him a kiss – but then
inch by inch he lost his grip,
calling for his mother he
tumbled into the torrent –
we never saw him again.
Gosh that is so sad, especially his calling for his mother. So much packed into so few lines. Sue.
Chilling stuff. The recklessness of youth always catches some out. I guess many of us are lucky to be here.
Thanks both – pride comes before destruction 🙁