The Authority of Road Signs by Ashley Crout

Yield. Cross traffic does not stop.

Notice that you, nucleus of your vehicle,

are not priority here, out of the running

for first prize. Travel is a pattern. Each road 

is official, sanctioned. You are here. You are 

here by permission only. Yield. You have so little 

agency. You are an interference. You take 

up too much of a finite amount of space,

pedestrian you. No color on the map’s key

references your presence. You are temporary,

a moveable object directed by the nonnegotiable

authority of road signs. Cross traffic will not stop

for you. Wait with or without patience.

Yell into the capsule of your car if you like, 

or rather dislike, this reality. Yield. Cross traffic 

will never stop. You can go when the sign 

changes. The sign will not change for you.

Everyone else has submitted to the way

of things, the rarity of having what it is

you want—the right of way. 

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Ashley Crout was born in Charleston, SC, and graduated from Bard College and the MFA program at Hunter College. She is the recipient of a poetry grant from The Astraea Foundation, has received awards from The Academy of American Poets and the Poetry Foundation and is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Her work has been published in Sojourner,New Orleans Review, Atticus Review and Dodging the Rain, among others. She lives in Greenville, SC, with her hound, Stella.