Elliott climbs the steps up to
The structure, swings on
The bar overlooking
The slide, then slides down

Runs through the wood chips to
The numbers displayed by
The plastic drums and metal bells
Bangs the drums, hits the bells
And shakes the rainmaker

Reaches his tiny fingers into
The back of the big blue drum
The wind blows through
The trees, leaves running, playing, dancing in
The parking lot

The sun keeps peaking from behind two
Clouds, Elliott sticks his head inside
The blue drum and shouts, smiling to

I’m on a bumpy purple circle, listening to
The insects making an insect’s noise
In the distance, hanging on as
The last days of warmth come to
An end

The sun beats onto
My back, radiating
My body, the wind
Reminds me the winter is coming

Elliott grabs a handful of wood chips to
Stuff them in the back of
The blue plastic drum

Other kids play on the structure next to
Us, ‘Daddy!’ He calls me
‘I see you’ I say
His voice echoes in the drum

He stomps proud to
Be two and a half
As the grass giggles around
The mid-autumn playground


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column 7x appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.