Bright

The sign appeared yesterday,

yellow so aggressive it burned the gray away.

Construction barriers,

the paint peeling in strips,

the color so desperate to be noticed

it was tearing itself off the metal.

I can't stop thinking about it.

I took a different street this morning,

but the yellow followed—

corner store marquee,

a delivery truck,

a child's jacket,

yellow everywhere,

hostile and bright,

proof that I've been walking

with my eyes half-closed,

that the world has always been this loud

and I was just deaf to it,

just numb.

The sign continues yelling,

the paint continues peeling,

and I'm supposed to walk past,

supposed to let the gray settle back,

supposed to forget

what I saw.

But I can't.

The yellow is under my skin now,

burning there,

a warning I can't unsee,

a brightness that won't fade.