I’m too tired today to care about the ripped condom on the tarmac by the swing yet still I envision some spotty teenager going at it like a turbo rabbit blowing his load and tearing the magic rubber straight in half. I can’t see the other half and i wonder if his condom courtesy goes as far as throwing it into the Blue painted wire bin along side popsicle wrappers, pop bottles and empty cans of Stella. I look at the metal chain dome swing, this brings a whole new meaning to swinging. I think about what kind of people fuck in a park and suddenly wonder at what point I grew up as I realise I myself knew the kind of people that escaped into the park after dark to drink, to smoke, to get stoned, back in the day to slip LSD on the tip of our tongues and become lost in a haze of hallucinations and to get the much sought out privacy of an unlit playground. Still I look at the condom as it proudly stares back at me and I stare back, to tired to give a fuck.
Karen Hayward ©2016