Distraught

Distraught.
Racing home to cover, and recover my identity.
Wallet gone, probably stolen,
I need contact only half of the world’s population,
Alerting them to my virtual demise.

How could this happen to me?
I could be philosophical if it happened to you,
Manifest just the right amount of sympathy,
Offer unspecified assistance,
And bewail modern man’s nightmare
In a post-Thoreau world. All records on a thumb nail indeed!

God, the trickster, has struck again.
I’d walked one block, since last using my wallet.
How could the fu----g thing be gone?
Retracing my steps 3 times and finding nada,
I head for home.

At my front door stands a large orange traffic cone.
Who the hell put that damn thing here?
Something very strange is happening,
And I am not amused.
Furious, I kick the cone a good 10 feet.

In the space just vacated sits my wallet.