MAPS

Pack the bags, gas up the car, the hobbits charged the iPad

Though the journey’s been traveled often, “Do you know the way” mom asked the dad

“Of course, I do” was the terse replay, “It’s only four hundred miles”

“The Weather Channel called for a sunny sky” the patriarch brimmed a confident smile

Unbeknownst to all aboard, alone in quiet solitude

Sat a piling of the planimetric map, the chance to exude dad’s moral rectitude

But as the SUV moved down the road, a wrong turn than detour sign

The travel route ingrained in the brain, refused to recall with the squawk “We’ll be fine”

“Where’s the map” was the expected retort, mentioned time and time again

The response was a demure cavalier smirk, off-putting with a shit eating grin

“Only those that need remedial care and are lacking in effortless panache

Need a map to navigate, For me it’s just tired hogwash”

The eight-hour trip expanded on the clock, hungry grew the hoard

Mom insisted time again, “ask the clerk how to cross the fjord”

But dad pushed back sure he needed just two more azimuth corrections

And this is why for forty years Moses’ roam the desert, 

it been said time and again, men just won’t ask for directions!