It’s gone many miles,
in rain and snow. Skated on the
ice like an Olympic champion. But now its

threads have worn thin. It’s gone flat
a few times because something sharp
played it like a harp. It’s been changed

more than a baby. Rotated more
than a file drawer. When it retired to the
junkyard it was still useful. It became

more fun once it wasn’t driven. Just a rope
and a tree made it a perfect swing. It was
happier being lazy and carefree. It didn’t forget

the days of high-speed rolling. All those stops
and starts. And those lulls when the engine
was shut off. But now someone could

get giddy when it was pushed from
behind. Now it never touched the pavement. It
only reached for the sky.