Orange blaze scuffed and tired

Orange blaze, scuffed and tired,

white stripes smeared like faded warnings.

It wobbles, caught in a gust,

a slow fall, then a thud against cracked concrete.

A flimsy guard against the slow crumble

of sidewalks, life patched with paint and silence.

The cone leans, unsteady,

a crooked soldier on broken ground,

a bright spot in the dull gray day.

I step around it, caught by its wobble,

a reminder how things stay upright

only just, only for a moment.

It holds its place,

unfinished,

waiting for the wind to choose.