The Disposal

She found that somewhere in her space and time, she had
Lost her post.  She must had dropped it somewhere en route,
But she wasn't sure of the exact location.  Anyway, it was white,

Wooden, and sharply pointed at one end for ramming
Into the ground when required.  And it always pointed the
Way.  So she was obliged to wander far without it, not

Knowing where to place her feet.  Her eyes were no good,
They recognised the terrain but not how to cross it, and
Without a marker, her direction ended up being circular.

She tried her fingers, ticking off distances, dividing miles,
But that didn't do it either because she always managed 
To lose count at a crucial turn and her long division sums

Became too complicated.  She sought for alternatives but
Her mind could only come up with a few feasible solutions.  
She could make another post, but that was difficult because

She had no tools, no paint, and all that stuff was back at the
Workshop from where she originated.  She could go back to
The beginning and get a map, but it was such a long way and

It meant starting out afresh.  She could find someone to travel with,
But she knew that not many folk had chosen to take her route
So her chance of a companion was remote.  Then one day

A man passed by as she was at a junction trying to decide
Which fork to take.  He told her he'd heard that someone
Further back down the line had found a lost post.  It was

An odd thing, he continued, it had been found buried by the
Side of the road, as if someone had tried very hard to 
Dispose of it and didn't want it found.  She mulled this over,

But try as she might she had absolutely no memory of having
Anything to do with a burial.  Well, she didn't really have any
Choice.  She had to go back and see if the post was hers.

After the longest walk, she reached an early stage in the route
And the officials there examined her shoulder to check if it
Fitted the beam.  Yes, it was hers.  The officials loaded it back 

On her shoulder and sent her on her way under strict instructions 
Not to try any more surreptitious disposals.  The post was for
Her own good and it was no use complaining about discomfort.

Once round the bend she took a look at it.  Beyond a slight tinge
Of wet rot, the wood was sound and the lettering still clear.
Admittedly she found the road easier with it although she always

Did find its weight arduous.  She told herself that once she reached
The roadend, she could dispose of it then.  It was that hope which
Kept her going because it gave her something to look forward to.

Disposal of one's post at the end of the road was a worthy aim,
But meantime it pointed the way so well 
it was a shame not to use it.
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