Cautionary Tale

They’ve chewed up the asphalt on 4th and Main,

the place where the sidewalk always felt like a promise.

Now there’s just gravel and the smell of wet dirt.

I tripped over a cone in a pile of brown leaves.

It was lying on its side, exhausted,

the reflective tape peeling away in thin strips

like a bad sunburn on a shoulder.

It’s supposed to be a warning, I guess.

A bright orange shout to stay away.

But I’m already in the ditch,

and the detour sign is pointing nowhere.