I walk on ledges,
roaring traffic on one side,
arms outstretched and wobbling,
the cement curb for my guide.
Should I take the road less travelled?
Is it not favored for a reason?
Trample grass or brave the tar–
my coat’s not suited to the season.
I do not follow road signs
(traffic lights be damned!)
If I can’t commit to wandering,
I can ignore what they have planned.
The path ahead is fogged up;
I don’t see what it’s worth.
But I have a magnet in my nose:
I’ll sniff out which way is north.
I’ll walk my ledges
and get where I am going,
for destination is a thing
we have no way of knowing.