Walking along this short English road
Spiked with road signs and lamps

At the throw of a dice you miss a turn
At the change of a light you move forward

The face of the permitted speed limit sign
The bright yellow lines along the kerb

So many signs in so short a road
Cemented into the bloodless anaemic earth

And in a group of people travelling by
Organised by signs where no danger exists

Their heads shaped like circles and triangles
Their crowns that light up like streetlights

Their fingers pointing down the white lines
Their eyes connected to control rooms