In the Car

May 3, 2003

The glare of sunlight on my windshield
is just enough torture to remind me
of the many reasons I usually seek
to remain within my home, rather
than slipping into my car to go for a drive.
I drive the two-lane at legal speed,
while people behind fear I keep them
from going as fast as they dare.
I watch in front of me, when I can see
through the golden, blinding flash of sun.
The sound of the stereo links me
to a world outside of this death trap.
I listen and hope I can forget
the sensation of doom as someone else
decides to oblige himself to drive
as close to me as a jealous lover
trying not to lose me in a crowd.
I see a sign and it still says
exactly the same number I see
at which my needle is pointing directly.
I cringe and speed just a little
out of desperation to lose that
evil and annoying empathy of anger.
Still, it is never enough,
the driver behind still takes
a rather petulant and daring risk
and speeds to pass by before the
oncoming car closes the gap.
For a moment, I envision the two
meeting just in front of me
and spinning uncontrollably into me.
I close my eyes and slow up
while the person nearly crashes
into the both of us.
After the car has passed
in his fit of superior anger
he speeds up for just a few
very precious seconds
only to find a stop light
turned red, and his brakelights
appear, and I secretly hope
his cheeks flush just as red.