the rope swing

i stood beneath the wide leaves
of a half-dead nameless tree
on a cold april day

deep in thought about a summer
so close i can almost see the first grasshopper
mushed (and re-mushed) under
the needy white walls of my dark blue jeep

this nylon rope needs fusing
before the knots are tied
and the tire hung here for someone
lighter and more beautiful than me

i thought.

but the wind was making the big branches
groan and me too when the lighter
blew out the hundredth time
for lack of a third hand to shield it

inside, i found a candle, and melted
the threads until it slipped away
then i used ratted gray duct tap to
hold it more firm.

When the melted plastic sweat onto
my middle finger, I flipped it up in a proud
curse of all things inanimate
and waited for a fresh blister -- and the robin redbreast to return.