Draftsmanship

The neighbor needed a shortcut to the highway,

so I grabbed the back of a credit card offer.

I used to win blue ribbons for charcoal landscapes,

back when my fingers didn't feel like rusted hinges.

I tried to draw the curve of the creek,

but the line hitched and jumped like a dying heart.

The pencil lead snapped, a tiny black tooth

grinding into the wood of the kitchen table.

I handed him a map of a place that doesn't exist,

just a series of jagged, angry scratches.

He looked at it for a second too long

before folding it twice and saying thanks.