Kinda true, but two actual events combined in one poem. In the recent event on a street in our city, I did not move the cones. I arrived at my destination, a Mexican restaurant, when I realized the cones were left there by mistake. I chose to drown my anger in margaritas rather than fling cones.

However, back when I was driving back and forth to Tennessee when my mom was still alive, I was stuck in 90 minutes of backed up traffic on I-75 on a Sunday. The traffic jam was caused by cones left from Friday roadwork. I did pull to the side, got out, and moved many cones but, because they stretched for at least 2 miles behind me, it was impossible to move them all. I did what I could from my spot to the end of the string of cones. People in two other cars joined me. Our heroism was greeted with horns blowing, thumbs up, and calls through windows.

I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.

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