Mapping

Standing before a large map
on the wall, I trace serpentine lines
with my left index finger
across all the places I’d go
if only I had the time
and freedom to roam.
Maybe someday
I’ll see these places
as more than red and blue arteries
stretching across oddly shaped borders.
It suddenly occurs to me
that I’ve been mapping destinations
most of my life. Speaking of life,
will there be enough left in me
by the time I’m deemed old enough
to kick away these boots I’ve been wearing
since I became a man
in need of belonging?