G) The playground

I stand behind the fence and watch the carefree children play,
Their laughter waking memories of a long gone yesterday.
A day when I, a child of three, sat upon the swing,
My father pushing gently as he talked of everything.
A day when I, a child of five, climbed the daunting slide,
Giggling as my sweaty thighs slowed down the bumpy ride.
A day when I, a child of seven, spun the roundabout,
Speeding up reality while giving dizzy shouts.
A day when I, a child of nine, rode the red seesaw,
Flying, frightened, off the seat, screaming out for more.
A day when I, at ten years old, saw the playground die.
A day when I, at ten years old, locked the child inside.
A day when I, at fifteen, hear it scraping at its cage.
A day when I at fifteen on the outside act my age.