Road Rage
I board my little metal box early in the dawn,
Adjust my seat, fix my mirror, turn the stereo on,
I love the drive, I live for the day,
And I am generally accepting,
Of all those little experiences,
Life shares with me along the way.
Check my mirrors, watch my speed,
Keep that safe distance that all drivers need,
Tense up my neck, stare into the next car,
Give people intense looks from near, and from afar.
All of the sudden, something within me jumps out,
Did I just curse, did I actually shout?
I’m only going from here to there, just a simple commute,
But there is a collective static that I cannot dispute,
As I glance at the other drivers, with that protruding vein,
From all of the anger, stress, and strain.
They all look like the angry guy in my mirror,
That is staring them right back again.
Break checking, tail gating, horns blowing,
And all of those one fingered salutes,
That my fellow drivers are showing.
Have I lost my mind? Is the traffic beginning to slow?,
Did I just call that little old lady,
A bloated warthog for not staying with the flow?
I finally reached my destination and my patience is gone,
My nerves shot, my anger boiling over, as the day wears on.
Why Oh why do I love to drive,
When just getting there wrecks my day?
I cant point the finger and blame others for my anger,
When I reacted in exactly the same way.
There is a solution to this though,
There is more than one way out,
There is a way to have a good day to this you may score,
Have others drive so you can talk,
Leave earlier and walk,
And of course, that is what a bus route is for.
Copyright © Walter Ferguson | Year Posted 2006
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