We each have our maps, the guides we use to find our way, to take us from where we are to where we want to be.
For some it is The Bible, for some The Qur’an, for some Astrology Monthly, for some a racing form.
Ticket
Marvin sits in a morning sun
a bayfront, Sunday morning sun,
contemplating the fine print
of his folded holy writ,
a pathway to better things.
Prophetic words (with notes) he’s read,
a promised end to a perpetual tread,
going home a man-made-new.
A clutched pencil circles hopes and fears
of a higher, mightier, a holier sphere,
a win, place or show.
Brief Case Poems (1973-1979)