Maps tell stories — about places we know and others we wish to visit, about technology and the speed with which we can traverse vast distances, and about the things we’ll see (or avoid) on our way from point A to point B. Whether you choose to write about an actual map, an imaginary one, or just about a particular route that means something special to you, make today’s poem about a space you inhabit (or wish to. Or would rather avoid).
Throw me violently from side to side, four soft dice in a box
on this ridiculous road that was planned by a goat
and tarmacced by laborers who cared not a mote
anything past lunch, clocking off and payment
this hill is a dramatic cliffside escarpement
down to the rough shingle beach on Atlantic water
road that bends and twists like no road ought’a
on the western thigh of Barbados
beauty spot on a beauty spot
every Thursday like pigeons shooed by Children
We flock to meet the boats as they return to their origin
hungrily waiting as their prize goes straight from
wooden hold to iron skillet to picnic blanket to hunger unravelled
The worse road on the island is the road more travelled
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