Ingrid Ruthig: Never just the road

pounding through rough-cut wild

there are the white-line reminders

each tree poled and caged in a crib of stone
every copper link strung tight between connections
                                                 and back to what?
every signpost and fence that splits
the difference of here and there,
mine and none,
now and then,
each tin-can hint of ravenous appetite
and all the littered scraps
of our consumption's fast-lane flight
                                                      flung
into what silence remains.