Canyons of Glass #9:

Trail of the Red Footprints

by Brian Jude

We made an excursion
The day the Dead Man died,
Criss-crossing the Trail of the Red Footprints.
I followed my semi-structured agenda,
Being cautious of my every move,

my every touch,
my every word.

Trying to keep a balance between,

"I don't want to feel that someone else is planning my life,"

and,

"I hate it when I have to make all of the decisions."

I refilled my wallet
As she quenched my thirst
With a thick, sweet secretion of heavenly mango
And a less-than-perfect iced cappuccino

(the best is still found west of the Hudson!)

We walked where our feet would take us,
Finding our needed destination
Using only the aid of the Tao for a compass and map,
While the Trail of the Red Footprints nodded its approval.
She smiled and fell in love with my sense of direction,
Giving the credit to a high content of nasal iron.

Long moments of silence inspired a variety of brain activity,
From the contentment of friendship,

to the desire to express deeper emotions,
to the wherabouts of a feminine-colored feline,
to the mystery behind the Trail of the Red Footprints

(there they are again!)

to the pain of my sore hamstring as it outaches my heart,
to the curiosity of her fear of the belly of the worm,
to the peacefulness found in a Union Square oasis,
to the principles of existentialism,
to the marvels of an Alphabet City sculpture garden,
to absolute nothingness

We walked on from the Waverly to Washington Square

(where Sally left Harry),

Examining outdoor jazz and indoor brochures,
Sidewalk script sellers and pottery stores,
And all had seemed well.
Her acquaintance with the Village was paired by

my reacquaintance with friendship.

Meanwhile the Red Footprints began an interpretive dance

with a partner of Green.

We had searched for nothing,
And instead found unsuspecting friends,
With their stories of blood-gushing accidents with nails,

future Italian restaurants,
new jobs and new addictions to Swedish Fish,
business tips and vacations,
and promises to stay in touch.

We received blessings from mystery drops of

air conditioned holy water

While the Red Footprints walked beside us once again.

We dined with friends old and new
In a tavern beneath the death bed of the mighty Kong

(imagine the Red Footprints he would have left!)

And for a brief moment,

habit,

not heart,

almost allowed an accidental kiss.

I dared not breech our agreement.

We finally returned to my crimson coach,
Saying goodbye to our friends

and to the Trail of the Red Footprints,

Driving along the highway

to the bridge of El Presidente Numero Uno

And our journey was complete -

A journey that began without knowing what we'd find.
I think we found exactly that.

© Brian Jude

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