Yellow in the Wrong Place

A plastic bag caught

in barbed wire—bright as a yell

against the gray brick and grime.

It pulses with the wind’s breath,

stubborn, loud,

a shout where no one listens.

Yellow isn’t meant to be here,

yet it won’t let go,

a flare that bruises the dullness,

refusing to fade.

Maybe some things cling

because they have to,

because no one else will.