He leans above her, his arm, if he
had arms, reaching, if he could reach, 
to assist her in crossing the street, if they
could cross the street, but of course they
never will because they have no eyes, 

no face, only round blank black balls
for heads. And perhaps the saddest part
is they have neither hands nor feet, 
are firmly planted, screwed fast against
a tall metal pole, itself jammed deep into 

the earth, much like Christ in this regard. 
But despite their hardships, despite their many
sorrows, they continue to sing a chartreuse
caution song for all who pass. But this singing
is not so much eternal as permanent.