Meryl Stratford
Directive
after Frost
In all the towns along the border,
you’ll find a xeroxed map of hell.
It comes with this warning: Don’t go!
After one day of walking, there’s no turning back.
Wear the right shoes. You cannot carry
enough water into this land of
heat and hostile vegetation,
plants armed with knives and swords,
the glittery eyes of coral snakes
following as you stumble past.
Beware the coyotes, those guides who only
have at heart your getting lost.
Whisper a prayer. Uncle Sam,
Uncle Sam, may I cross your border?
What was once a child’s game
is now a perilous journey, beyond
Tombstone and Phoenix
to the distant City of Angels.