Along the endless roadways, like many in the west,
you would see them stretched for miles, doing their wintry best
to keep the blowing snow off main highways and road –
a hundred feet back and four-foot high, in red, they were the code.
You’d see them before the snows came, snaking, winding, low or high
not thinking much about them, as the grasses tried to hide
them, growing up high between their slats, blocking the reddened dye
as you whizzed by on the highway; taking them in stride.
You came to expect their presence, as many were up year round
and stretched for endless miles nearly going from town to town.
for they also stopped the tumbleweed from flying across the road
and changing the course of a speeding car; making sure it slowed.
But the wintry winds are fast to come that bring the heaps of snow
and like a bird on silent wing, they can surprise you unaware.
But the picket fence, standing tall, waves defiance at its foe
as it performs its sentinel duty, always standing; always there.