There’s No Point on the Side

Something to a sinuous
Loop of smooth two-lane asphalt
Snaking through fine scenery,

Something with no genuine
Value or significance
In the scheming heart of things,

Neither offensive nor wise,
Wholly human inhuman,
Carefully made and painted

Scarf of stone, draped artifice
In the middle of some park
Or out of-the-way country

That you’re supposed to drive through
If you have time and the wheels
To get somewhere to the point.