There is nothing worse on your way home than miles upon miles of traffic cones. All standing to attention in line making your journey take more time. Flashing orange upon their head, the sight of queues we all dread.

Motorway signs flash in time to tell us all to get in line and we all sit and cuss and whine. A dance a movement a mass exodus tail lights blazing in red decadence. Behind the cones no man or woman goes but still the signs above still flash slow. The obedient line waiting to go like cars on the start line of a grand prix waiting for the signal for go to show.

One thought on “Cones

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s