Do not throw stones at this sign
which stands here, in a stony field
a stone’s throw from the sea
whose beach is a mess of pebbles
since the sand was stolen for building,
and the few people who dawdle there,
rods in hand, catch nothing,
not even a shoe – might as well
bombard the waves with golfballs,
or wade in and hold their breath,
or bend, as they do, and grab a handful
of pebbles to throw at the sign,
and each time they hit it they cheer
and chalk up another beer, especially
the man who thought up the sign,
who got his paintbrush and wrote
‘Do Not Throw Stones At This Sign’
on a piece of driftwood which he stuck
in this useless field, then, laughing,
danced his way to the house of beer.