A Rush

I remember that Radio Flyer, now resting
in the dust of that timeless shed.
I cannot recall my last account of racing
down the hill, holding its handle ahead
of me to pilot my path.
Brownie barking as he bolts after me,
always beating me to the bottom.
The glossy scarlet paint shimmering
in the sun, as I paraded
my Snoopy across the lawn,
while skipping to the sounds
of Raffi's sing-alongs.
The snack of grapes as I'm pulled
by my grandma through the park.
Passed the green pastures,
a pond of geese.
My little red wagon
now covered in rust and
silky webs,
I've abandoned you.