Today a woman passed me on the way to work.
She had been watching me.
Waiting for her opportune striking moment.
She saw my blinker.
She knew that I needed that lane,
Which she held,
Yet her car remained
Closer than it appeared.
I saw the vile grin sweep across her face.
Her hands danced across the wheel in hellish victory.
She looked so anticipant to arrive at whatever lesser-than-mine
Destination she had in mind.
I had been spurned;
She had achieved her goal.
Inside the white Altima,
A good morning continued.
Frank Sinatra heralded the beautiful sun.
Her fingers could not help but twirl to the rhythm.
It was her birthday
And her birthday breakfast still sat pleasantly in her stomach.
The week that had been so difficult
Gave way to the sweetest time.
The moment was more than happy.
She could not wait to get to work,
So her car flew a little faster.
How sad a thing to poison a moment.
A celebration of humanity;
A party invitation gathering dust.
An open window to a highway friend
That I have antagonized in the story of ME:
The narrative I play too much.
Fix my vision, Father.