Relief Map

by John Zedolik

The scab has been on my shin

            so long that I expect it there,

            a permanent feature of note,

            raised upon my at best flat terrain,

            a butte on the prairie, a tor upon the moor,

            destined for view until the landscape’s end.

            But on a looking after weeks, only a pink-red

            trace remains, no bas-relief from surrounding scrub,

            so no relief from tedium of skin on and on,

            and no scar developing. I should be happy

            for such featureless expanse—unconcerned and

            uninterrupted by any bloody shock and break.