Toss It Poem by Naveed Akram

He tossed the map to the side,
A road emerged for the undertaking.
This day a route was produced
For the three miles or so.
I had to mark the man with a muzzle
So that descriptions resurfaced.
My middle was his toss,
And the map was mine.

Taken by the car was a disaster,
One blocked the country too little,
Searching the nation for the vacuum
Was ticking, and clicking
With much of the horrid hair.
To see the whispers we are a mist,
A gate opens for the undertaking.