Prose and Poems: A Contrast

I wrote this in my cell phone one night.

He’s a lonely figure under a street light, trying to figure out the map in his hands. Lifting his head suddenly, he is startled by a goose honking at the nearby lake. His finger traces the path he plans to take, careless of the drops of water that have fallen onto it. The man pockets the map and looks up at the clear night sky. He trudges, weighed down only by his body and the things in his pockets; a wallet that holds money, cards, and never pictures except the one on his ID, a pad of paper with a pen in ths spine, an outdated cell phone, and his map.

Here it is re-written as a poem.

One figure illuminated by street light,
A map before him

He is startled by mocking geese
From the nearby lake
His finger traces a path,
The one he plans to take

The map is folded and pocketed
He looks toward the sky
And trudges, weighed
Only by the contents of his pockets
A wallet with no pictures save his
A pad of paper, pen in the spine
An ancient cell phone
And the map