painting by Barbara Gordon
They march through summer's heat each year,
traffic cones in party clothes with stripes
of red and white that reflect light and blind us,
decked with yellow ribbons for a bash we can’t enjoy.
We must navigate and wait while temperatures
can fry our tires, roast our tempers,
leave us sweating in our cars.
Even though they’re in no hurry,
traffic cones know life is short.
Soon they’ll hide in sheds from winter storms
until warm weather brings them out
to aggravate us once again.
for Rattle’s September Ekphrastic Challenge
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