An alternate point of view on a memorable scene from Robert Frost’s poetry, with apologies to his devotees.

The Road I Closed

As road commissioner for the town
I close up roads that nobody takes,
to try to keep the taxes down.
The voters wouldn’t keep me around
if I spent their money in useless ways.

A road might go to mire and muck
and matted leaves all rottin’ with dew.
Maintainin’ these roads takes a lot of bucks
for backhoes and dozers and graders and trucks,
not to mention the pay for the crew.

Two roads diverged in the woods up there,
but neither one was used that much.
So I closed the one that don’t go nowhere.
I didn’t think anybody would care
except the deer, and hikers, and such.

Took the grader over the other day
to throw up that road that nobody owns.
Saw this hiker ahead — a mite crazy I’d say,
the last one to travel down that way
before we turned it to rocks and stones.

One day I’m takin’ that other dirt trail,
but I won’t be walkin’ or drivin’ it — yup,
‘cause it ends at the graveyard on Hickory Hill
where my lot is, and my folks, and my Uncle Bill.
I got no idear where that hiker wound up.