Saturday, November 30, 2002

Swing, Roundabout

For that moment, my hand

met the stitches on your back

and you were away:

a weighted pendulum

with chains either side.

Quite safe – your grip

saw to that; even so,

you marvelled at my license.

‘Meet my eyes,’ you said,

sat at the disc’s centre,

the world drunk about me –

and I did, I held on.