The Map Screamed Out

During the worst of days,
she found her locale to be
lower than the sole of his dusty boot.
During those days,
she felt as splintery
as the sun-dried deck planks
that scraped the dog shit
from the sole of his
dusty boot.
There were increasingly
more of the dry,
splintered-wood,
dust-ladden days.
Her topographical map
began to holler
until she stifled it with
a fully packed, prim parcel,
and watched as it twinkled
in the new day sun.