A Polluted Swing

Her mermaid’s hair

floating all up in the air

Her tiny legs

drawing unparalleled brown eggs

Her strong hands

clutching the parallel bands

Her yellow t-shirt

covered in footpath dirt

Her black pants

sandy as deserted cactus plants

Her happy teeth

wrapping up all the dearth that is beneath,

Stimulating an epiphany

to judge my lethal face scarf

and isomorph

into an untroubled being that she is,

to wave away the misery of

my existence and atmosphere

and go on that polluted swing.

~G Snehalatha Goud


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