There was a time this road was narrower,
the blind curve sharper. In due course the state
was moved by equal parts of fact and fear
to smooth the curve with drill and dynamite.
One drill bit sank too deep into the rock
to be withdrawn, so they left it behind,
a pointing finger raised as if to mock
this stone-exploding urge in humankind.
When honeysuckle clambered to reclaim
the fresh-cut bank, vines covered up the drill.
A monument to nothing with a name,
it stands where I can show it to you still.