Responsibilities lurk
just to the right of
the rusty swing,

the one that used to squeak
more obnoxiously,
with every pump

creating a tempo
to ride to the sky by

flip flops in flight,
tips of toes
touching the clouds

Tossing heads, teasing wind's
backward arch
shadowing a wave of nausea  

swirling hair caught
in the sides of silly grins

Dreaming of
the next destination

the in betweening
of take-off and descent

Sweaty palms
clinging tightly to
gentle, non-binding chains

On second thought,
"time to let go"

Release

then

Launch