The Mile Marker

One’s missing, or seems to be,
On the twenty-five mile road
From canyon to reservoir.

Little metal plate painted
With a number, shoved in place,
Trivial piece of empire,

Regular signage measures
The strength of bureaucracy
In the face of entropy.

Humans overlook humans
Regularly, the systems
Of teams that maintain order.

Teams were sent out here to plant
Regulation mile markers,
As all over the country.

The markers tilt in tall grass.
Who really notices them?
If one’s missing, it could mean

A new one will be up soon
Or the decay has begun.
Failure’s the system’s revenge.