The End by Lydia Orr

The end

faded backboard

frayed net

kissed gently by only the breeze

a rusty bell

married to cobwebs


faint chalk marks

left by two ghosts

who never quite finished their game


wooden swing set stained green

cracked, splintering

weeds abusing the low swings


a dead christmas tree

begging to be set into flames


a little charred chair

chipped paint

remnants of a couple little girls

floating off



one thick, steel chair

set on the outside

watching time tick

and the world grow, fade, die

and grow again