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I'm looking right at the map.
It clearly shows the road going through here
all the way to my destination.
It doesn't say anything about this sheer cliff
or the asphalt that runs out
jagged on the edge like a coupon
torn not clipped from the newspaper.
How am I supposed to get there
from . . .
Change shape? Become a cloud or an eagle
or tumble bloody down these rocks.
If I go by foot the rest of the way
when I get there I'll be so changed
I'll forget why I made this trip in the first place.
I lie on the blacktop and listen to the wind sing.
My cigarette sends an SOS
as I study the ants for a clue.
-- Don Shewey
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