Tuesday, October 22, 2013

rage




Her hair was perfect and a faint tattoo
Of a wreath of thorns adorned her arm.
She shook her head at me as I tried to get through.
And mouthed some words I couldn’t see.
Then as I tried to turn left she blocked me,
Her truck, SUV, whatever was blue.
But the stoplight in front of her was red. 

She was mouthing again, I decided to smile.
She smiled back, treacherously.
Blocking the street because she didn’t want me
Turning left on my street …
I searched for the law
When I got home.
And found no concrete evidence to pronounce her a jerk
In my mind. 

Who was right?  Me or her?