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The Inspector Found a Flaw

The inspector found a flaw.
It wasn’t the sort of thing others might notice,
But nonetheless,
He was an inspector and it was a flaw.
Just a non descriptive alignment gone wrong,
Two linear indications that did not visually align
And they became so suddenly apparent
To his most diligent eye.
 
This inspector had seen the very same flaw
Years and years ago,
It was on someone’s backyard swing.
And that flaw, too, was at the very top where
The three polls came together.
Both had the very same none aligning linear indications.
 
“It’s not a simple matter for two surfaces to meet
And blend flawlessly with a third,
Still, it is annoying,” he thought.
 
“Where did I see that swing,” he questioned himself?
That swing of so many years ago.
That swing that brought such joy and endless hours of fun
To a shy and quiet child.
That swing that contributed to many minor fractures,
Sprains, buses, and scratches of every shape and size,
Not to mention that nose; still slightly bent today.
 
That swing with that annoying flaw,
(Even at an early age it bothered him.)
That flaw was like fingernails on a blackboard,
Like drops of water on a dishpan at midnight.
Who’s yard was it in, that red swing?
 
Red Swing?!?
 
His red swing!
 
That swing that his father bought for his birthday
And assembled in their back yard.
His father placed it near the tree.
That old apple tree
Where the family carved their names.
 
“It is the very same swing set,” he thought
“This set with one swing and a slide at the end.”
The same one that the inspector now assembles
for his child.
And as he reached for the wrench
The inspector wondered,
“Was the flaw created by the manufacturer,
Or was it genetic?”
 
Smiling, he tightened another bolt.
 
 
 
                                     D. Thurmond / JEF —- 04/26/2008

(2008)

Just a story about a swing, and not.

#(prose?)MyOneFewNon-rhymingOfPoems

Autres oeuvres par D. Thurmond Aka Jef (James Everett Falcon)...



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