American Cartography
       

Someone's hidden all the fun
behind years bunched up
like ill folded maps
stuffed in the glove box.
And it's entirely my fault.
I am combing my hair
In the mirror of my
Daughters. I am googling
Pluto to see how much colder
Its demotion will be. I am
floating up to get an aerial view
of the vast unsettled plains
of my ignorance.
I draw every sad drop of river,
I color the infinite blue
estuaries, the salt marshes,
the green & black mountains.
If I can correct the map
I may find my way back to the first
mistake, that border slash
of red that started war.
All that fun, buried beneath
Route 66 ... Yes, all right. I get it.
And it's entirely my fault.

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Copyright © 2017 Jeffrey Skinner All rights reserved
from I Offer This Container
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission