In Glen Ellyn, Illinois
my footsteps work the ground
forty long years after I exported myself.
Those footsteps still pay a local tax
to appear in the dirt near the swing set
on the hill overlooking the lake.
Once a place has been a part of you,
it never lets you go completely.
Or you see it in sepia toned, dog-eared memories.
My survival appears so ordinary.
In the ground a hundred childhood atrocities
lay buried waiting for archaeologists.
I mean, they are excavated and brushed clean
in some therapeutic lab, awaiting display at a museum
for the curious and those who tag along.
In Albuquerque, New Mexico
my present footsteps thru the Sandia Mountains
appeal to my nineteen-sixties footsteps
to stop their seismic activity
that threatens to alter the Mississippi’s flow
and tilt Lake Michigan to drain south.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney