Orange Laying Down

Walking to the bus stop, same route,

same gray pavement, different

morning. And then there it was,

a splash of bright, unapologetic orange.

Lying on its side,

half in the storm drain,

half on the curb,

like it gave up.

Scuffed gray, on one flank,

where it scraped against the street.

Not marking anything anymore.

Just an abandoned warning.

A plastic sentinel, fallen.

A bright, empty promise

of order. Now just

a piece of plastic waste,

caught in the muddy lip,

waiting for the next hard rain.