Soft Steps

I’m not sure how many people I ran with today,
Lots,
All of them were dead,
I don’t say that smugly,
But it’s true,
I was running in a cemetery.

I get weird ideas running there,
Hands reaching out,
Me waking the dead with my heavy stepping,
Them down there partying
In some underground disco grotto
For the deceased.

I don’t mind running there,
I wonder how they all ended up there,
Illness, natural causes, the virus of the time.
They span generations from the 1800s
All the way to now,
Hopefully my running postpones joining their grotto.

So Bayard, Banta, McFarlan, and all those Clouds
I run lightly in your presence
Not wanting to bother your rest
I’ll see you in a few days
For now, entertain the squirrels
And that one crow over by the Mendenhalls.

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