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Sue Marra Byham

The Swing

With Apologies to R.L. Stevenson

Does your mom make you sit in a swing while
She hurls it toward Timbuktu?
Oh, I do think that’s the awfullest thing
Ever a mom can do!
 
Splinters below and sunburn above,
And insects a mile high,
Holding that slippery seat real tight
Hoping you aren’t gonna die—
 
Til she tires of pushing that creaking swing,
Covering you with rust—
And with one last mighty pull on that thing,
Throws your ass in the dust!

Published in Amelia, one of the poems meant for a humorous horror version of "A Child's Garden of Verses"

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