All these lemmings
line up every morning
rushing to work, or wherever
in shiny metal boxes.
It's a suicide express,
as if some sort of test
as to who will make it
and who simply won't.
I see you darting
in front of me, cutting me off
without hesitation,
or even the courtesy
of a blinker, turning signal
or perhaps a hand wave.
The only signal I ever receive
is your extended finger.
So I move slowly,
more slowly than I am want to
so you can zoom by
or slip in front.
I get more shouting,
your colorful metaphors
as I negotiate the interstate.
Oh, and when you break down
or get a ticket, or accident
and I see you sitting there
along the side of the road
I'll keep driving
maybe even wave
passing you by
in your self-imposed malaise.
Now that will make my day.

09/14/2011

Author's Note: ... on driving on the Interstate.....

Posted on 09/14/2011
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