I loved those days, him in his swing,
and those when he giggled to swim.
Hopes to play in the big boy gym,
or watch Pooh and Pig’et and sing.
Now I see him sinking, drowning,
‘neath pressure not meant his to be.
I reach out to lift the weight free,
receiving rebukes for my care.
Being told it’s not my affair,
just a father in name only.
My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge No. 26 SWING.
© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.