Orange Blocker

It lay there, a blunt pyramid,

on its side,

a stupid, faded orange beacon

in a lane clear for miles.

Just past the exit I needed, too.

Like a punchline no one delivered.

Its plastic skin, scuffed gray

where it must have tumbled, skipped,

dragged itself across asphalt.

No workers, no crash,

no reason for its bright, dumb presence.

Just blocking air.

A sentinel to nothing.

I swerved, a small, unnecessary move,

and felt a flicker of rage.

At the absolute, vibrant pointlessness

of a thing so loud,

so clearly, totally useless.