On the wall that supports my desk

My hands, my head

There are etchings of flies drawn by phantom children

(Or post office own-brand white tack

If we were in the business of being honest)

White tack used to hold up

A scratch (no sniff) map of the world

That kept collapsing to the ground like a toddler

on a 7-step trip to the Arms of Pops.

.