Highway Sign
What once flashed of danger ahead—
a hurdling white-tailed deer
framed over golden pastures—now stood
as a peppered-metal reminder,
where boys yielded to bad decisions
and saddled up on life, their Bronco
kicking like an unbroken horse,
while steadied riders took aim
on the night, a firm grip
on poor choices and rich lore.
Tomorrow they may return a father,
or only a fleeting passerby, but tonight
they are just young bucks in rut,
warning wildlife that this point
is no longer safe to cross.
Author’s note: A roadside warning becomes a mirror for youth: risk, bravado, and the thin line between survival and legend. “Highway Sign” watches a familiar symbol of danger shift its meaning, tracing how boys inherit the night and the choices that mark them long after the sign stops warning.
““Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.”
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