My Daughter’s Trampoline
There’s a squirrel in the tree behind
my daughter’s trampoline
the one all the kids shriek and
fall about on.
The squirrel aggravates the dog
who badly wants to catch him.
The swing beneath the apple tree that
holds the squirrel is empty, as it is
most all the time, though a beautiful
and quiet spot for sitting. Perhaps it’s too
hidden in dappled shade, too far from the
house, or, this time of year, too filled
with fallen apples to be much used.
I should be there now, musing.
Sometimes I watch my daughter and
her friends through the window as
they fling their bodies carelessly
around on the trampoline, laughing.
And sometimes I watch as my dog
tries to get the squirrel who is eating
I’m looking at the empty swing
as it rocks, ever so slightly, in the