I could wear red,
But you’d still touch me
Running past the signs
Like a self-entitled racecar;
Even yellow has you going
Revving up against me
Throwing caution in a bin,
When will you learn to read me?
I don’t need your tires
Skidding on my potholes,
Making a mess of marks on my body,
What could send a message?
Maybe orange?
Please do not speak to me
Construction up ahead,
Too busy fixing all the holes people left behind.
Or would you just run over the cones too?