[Writing 201, Poetry. DAY FOUR: Metaphors]
One of the things I quite enjoy and sorely miss is a Map,
a good old fashion paper map in a neatly-folded packet.
Nevermind that it opens easily, but defies return to its jacket
Assuming a set of highway coordinates– say 77 and 211,
a North or a West or the name of a city,
a paper map illustrates orientation in words and symbols
helpful and geared to simplicity
Spoken directions–out in the boondocks
may be clear to a resident but like mud to a stranger
who needs good direction to get where he’s going.
it won’t help him to look for a “guy mowing” a field
Clearly murky and useless advice
“turn left at Jim Handy’s place, over the creek,
then right at the big Chestnut tree (or it may be an Elm…)
about a mile, or two, where the old well used to be.”
At a four-way junction there is no function to say
“a drug store on the corner” an ambiguous term
which is not helpful at all for Right or Left
and East or West can be clearly obscured
when the sun has disappeared.
Much clearer indeed is direction with proper inflection–
take this way, then left, then two rights and a STOP sign,
a mile to the South and you will find
the address…a big white house with a blue barn–
Give me a good old paper map–even ripped and torn
it is better than guessing if I will ever get where I’m going.
I don’t miss the cheerful depressing voice, which after agonizing
pauses and fear of malfunction, startles in the silence–
After twisting and turning, on an intricate quagmire of unlikely paths:
“This is NOT your destination.”
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