Poem 867 – Lines

Our yellow lines have been redone, under
the sun they shout, ‘No parking here, be gone!’
Their sleek crisp lines are unambiguous,
there is no missing their bold and muscular message
of ‘Tarry not!’ But yet their streaks are tarnished, obstructed by the tyres of cars ironically
parked with flashing lights that they believe
confer immunity. They are line blind.

Passed newly painted yellow lines in the way to school this morning, glowing on the summer sun. Cars all over them.
(30.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by the blowup on Unsplash

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