The countryside lay empty.
A signpost leaning towards him
On the right hand gestured skyward
And westward at the ground.
He found on moving closer
The index beckoning forward
Signalled no place name.
Black letters spelt UNKNOW
On the splintered arm which tilted
Back the way he came.
He began to ponder
On its loss of hand and finger.
Had they once pointed to
An ‘N’ or ‘ABLE’ -
Which meant he must score through
Things he thought he knew?
He idly brushed a spider
Off his hunk of bread and cheese,
And took another gulp of cider.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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