Posterity
July 1 2009


We had road-side ditches
a kid, in rubber boots with a pointy stick
could busy himself
all day.
Culverts under the driveways,
gravel roads.
Then streetlights came,
the big pipe
buried, then paved,
sidewalks, finally —
concrete, still soft
where we left our mark,
and fled.
Dares and double dares
still there
40 years on.

Which is how the sky looks today,
concrete, freshly poured
wet and grey.
Which I would also write on, if I could,
something to commemorate the day
the old place burned —
only charred beams left standing,
cracked sidewalks
dark with ash.

The forecast calls for skies to clear.
As I imagine the remains will be flattened —
the foundation razed,
sidewalks jack-hammered.
Fate, as usual
amused
at youthful illusions
of permanence.