A New Little Man
There was a huge cedar tree in my grove.
It had immense girth.
A high branch as big as a small tree itself
Grew out of the trunk parallel to the ground.
Then at right angles it turned upward toward the sun.
It looked like an arm with a big flexed bicep.
When Dad hung a swing there for me
He attached the ropes on either side of the bulged bicep.
I was nine and played Tarzan.
I would swing hard and high with an attempt to fly.
I would bend the ropes with arms and hands,
Push out with my butt and legs for upward thrust.
Tired I would stop and look at moss and squirrels
And peer upward through the green fan like cedar bows
While spikes of light penetrated the canopy
Of the Emily Carr rain forest.
Then a stronger urge would drive me to climb the swing ropes
Bare feet pinching the hemp fibres.
From the top I could see Mt Baker steaming
That old volcano active, snow hat gleaming.
Up and down, both ropes between thighs friction squeezing
Inner sense of crotch up-warming and lungs a-heaving
I spiraled down the rope to an eruption
Of manhood
And I stood barefoot trembling
A new little man.