My front lawn has ghost tracks—

toeprint indents from phantom feet 

and limbs, a remembrance—

Ding-dong ditched and vanished

in poltergeist play,  

veered diagonal from front door 

to cul-de-sac, 

off the pathway we tiled

for propper disappearing acts. 

 

A presence left his impression 

in landscaped lines. 

 

A street-facing spirit, 

a front garden ghoul. 

Here, and then gone—

His memory turned our mulch. 

 

Did our perennials catch 

under his toenails,

a nursery relic he collects 

from one trespassing to the next?