Road
The sidewalk on my way to work is covered
with fallen leaves of late autumn like a carpet.
The road of fallen leaves precedes me.
While preceding me, it stops awhile
waiting for me, as if saying I should take a rest.
If I tread on the footprints ahead of me,
a new road is made,
autumn breeze making a byway on its side.
Who preceded me today?
A paperboy, perhaps.
A hungover salaryman must have walked drowsy.
A highschool senior must have walked wearing a receiver,
muttering.
There are countless roads to walk.
Footprints precede, fall behind or tangle in all directions.
A cleaner sweeps them away with a worn broom
as if he did with an eraser, but a new road is made soon.