We're sitting on swings
over moving shadows,
rotting leaves and broken twigs
and sand that will,
one day,
be like the two of us.

She'll ask about her mother first
and I'll tell her that she's well
and that her chicken's still terrible
and she'll giggle and grip
the chain of her swing
like my little girl
and, for a brief moment,
I'll be her father again,
until we see the wrinkles
where our smiles
are supposed to be.

Then, all of a sudden,
our worlds will separate
and she'll become a rainbow
in a puddle of oil
and melting snow.

We'll yell, we'll scream,
We'll remember
to hate each other
and then we'll part ways
under the dim light parade
of passing cars and city lights.