and another poem - "Swings"

Sometimes, when your landlord is outside making noise, using a carbon steel circular saw to cut up old appliances so that the garbage truck will take it (only small pieces allowed), and you're driven out onto the street to find some quiet, so you can plan tomorrow's work, and you walk to a nearby park, and say hello to the elderly man walking his cairn terrier, and he explains to you about "cairn", how it's a Celtic word and all that kind of stuff, and then he says goodbye, and then a 20-something girl comes with a little kid and greets the other people at the park, but doesn't greet you, but then the girl and the kid leave and it doesn't really matter anyway, and then finally, some elementary school kids come and start playing around and swinging on the swingset and then they all go off, promising to meet and play together again soon (because it's spring vacation), and in the end, you're there all alone... sometimes, you get an idea for a little poem...

swings
still moving
long after girls have left