The lane will narrow in half a mile,
an exit looming large. Lines of traffic with idiots
and knucklehead up ahead.
Instead of letting me in the right aisle,
I get cut off with a flip and a smile.
The only way is to make my way.
Fingers gripping, knuckles white,
foot to the floor a lunge to the right.
A tractor trailer bearing down
and I’m sweating bullets. I do a quick
sign of the cross. “Holy Mother
of Blessed Acceleration, don’t fail me now!”
(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014