Commute
While sitting in the jam for most the day,
I see the bottleneck begin to clear.
But on the shoulder speeding up my way,
A hasty driver passes from the rear.
His horn a crowbar prying at the line,
He clears a space for him inside the pack.
Ignoring half a million warning signs,
He pushes all the others further back.
Perhaps projecting purely to provoke,
He slams his brakes for those who sound protest.
He swerves at one, whose older truck was broke,
His heart is like a stone inside his chest.
He made the office lot with time to spare,
But if he made the rest all late… why care?
No comments:
Post a Comment