Desire Path

poem

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I think of the paths
of desire, those unplanned
trails formed by the feet

of people who ignore
poorly-designed sidewalks
and walk directly from

one point to another.
I think of the silly effort
to change the Gulf

of Mexico into the Gulf
of America. Who cares
what the maps might say—

people are still going
to call it the Gulf of Mexico,
even the ones who agree

with the renaming effort.
I think of the roustabouts 
and roughnecks on oil

derricks, the cruise ship
captains, and the forklift
drivers on the docks who'll

keep calling it "the Gulf,"
without the need to add
"America" or "Mexico."

I'm sure there are multiple
slang names, too, like Big
Water or the Galveston

Bathtub or the Cancun Soup.
Names also follow the path
of desire. On the reservation,

most people still call me Junior,
my childhood nickname. Just
yesterday, a classmate who lives

in New Orleans commented
on my Instagram and called me
"JR." I haven't seen or spoken

to her in decades. What a great
surprise! I love that I'm Junior
on the reservation and Sherman

off the rez. I think Junior
and Sherman follow parallel
paths of desire. And I think

of the Executive Order to change
the name of Denali back to Mount
McKinley. I suppose there might

be a few old-timers who are happy
about that reversal but they'd probably 
never stopped calling it McKinley.

Sometimes, a path of desire will
bisect another path of desire. 
Most Alaskans are still going

to call it Denali because that Indian
name is far more evocative
than McKinley. Do you know

who fought for decades
to change McKinley to Denali?
Alaskan Democrats & Republicans—

the Alaskan State Legislature—
the citizens of the Last Frontier. 
Do you know who fought hardest

against the change from McKinley
to Denali? The State of Ohio,
the birthplace of William McKinley!

Isn't that hilarious? I think
of the Ohioans who still love
the 25th President of These

United States. They've got
their own paths of desire.
I think of my wife, Diane,

and how we've spent thirty
years walking the same path
together and separate paths

that diverge and converge.
We have our nicknames
for each other. I'm not going

to share them with you, nope.
You only need to know
that our pet names follow

paths of desire that bypass
the names on our birth
certificates. I think of the paths

worn into the carpets in
our house. I think of our sons
who've walked the paths

that we taught them and are
now following their own.
I wonder how choice and chance

will lead us onto new paths
of desire. What gains or losses
will change our directions?

Of course, it's impossible to know
what'll happen tomorrow. We can
only make our guesses. We can

only fill out our change of address
cards—the ones inside our souls—
and follow the path that we make next.