Just the Cone

Pulled onto the street I knew,

then a quick block, a jarring view.

Right at the edge, a bold, bright face,

stood one lone cone, right in my space.

No crew, no truck, no yellow tape,

just orange plastic, beat in shape.

It leaned a little, scuffed and marred,

my driveway entrance suddenly barred.

The asphalt stretched, an open lane,

but here it stood, a tiny strain.

A useless barrier, just for me,

a silent, bright absurdity.

I slowed the car, a low, soft grind,

a little piece of angry mind.

The cone just sat, a stubborn thing,

no reason for the halt it'd bring.