There’s often footprints here in the mud,
A little patch of bare ground among the ball fields.
I’ve probably added my own on occasion, trotting
The mile or so lap around the perimeter,
Four times or so in a row, a workout.
Sometimes it’s added up to more than laps and footprints –
That time I could not make it even one lap,
That time not even half a lap,
That time a doctor said “leukemia.”
That was when I went to walk a lap, and saw the muddy patch
With footprints erased by rainstorm.
That was the time I just wanted to walk a lap
And see footprints,
Wishing someone would be seeing mine.
_______________________________________________________________
John is retired from the professions of cooking and history-teaching. He still cooks constantly and misses his students deeply. In the meantime, he has been writing poetry and short, third-person biographies.
A little patch of bare ground among the ball fields.
I’ve probably added my own on occasion, trotting
The mile or so lap around the perimeter,
Four times or so in a row, a workout.
Sometimes it’s added up to more than laps and footprints –
That time I could not make it even one lap,
That time not even half a lap,
That time a doctor said “leukemia.”
That was when I went to walk a lap, and saw the muddy patch
With footprints erased by rainstorm.
That was the time I just wanted to walk a lap
And see footprints,
Wishing someone would be seeing mine.
_______________________________________________________________
John is retired from the professions of cooking and history-teaching. He still cooks constantly and misses his students deeply. In the meantime, he has been writing poetry and short, third-person biographies.
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