The black rubber swings are killer
whales upon whose backs we ride
across the southern ocean. The sand
beneath the monkey bars? Lava
we must swing above, hand over
hand. And if we fall, what then?
I ask young Will. Do we burn?
Do we die? Lava can’t hurt you
anymore when you’re old, grandpa,
so you can walk underneath me
with your arms out like this.
Later came the battle with the enemies
of Thor, who always wait stupidly
at the bottom of the slippery slide,
never learning, it seemed, they were
no match for a young Norse godand his agèd, but lava-proof sidekick.