Childhood Book of Maps

My palm pressed on Mozambique
Over the young man, picking
Bananas from the tall trees.
I leap to Madagascar,
Where there’s a ring-tailed lemur
(I guess not the one singing
“I like to move it move it”).
I turn the page and see four
Faces, carved on a mountain,
“They must be famous,” I think.
Several fingersteps north,
Eyes peep out of an igloo.
Sneering sharks circle surfers,
Mountains, airplanes, elephants,
Ships and towers beneath my fingers;
I was a child, I believed it.