Abject Lessons in Driving

hirsute rural commuter

these abject one-way

conversations never end

until they stop with the crack

of a whip or a rifle pop

i wish you were

my brother but

you're decidedly not

and from what

one can tell from

this side of hell

you have no desire

to be a liberal's

doppelganger or keeper

                  *

why do you double down

on temper rage and anger

in easy contempt for those

who are cautious on the road

who forget their way at

an intersection for them

who are too slow to turn the wheel

your vile and out-of-control ego

extends for all to see

from fog lights to spoiler

through all-weather tires

to your composite front and rear

bumpers even with the words you use

to define yourself that you've stuck

upon the grime smeared on your tailgate

the proverbial middle finger you throw

from your high driver's seat

at the rest of us

                  *

this back-to-school

august in northern

virginia slows down

your morning's race

from the place you hate

over there to nowhere

before the traffic snarled

the clouds in the east

went in less than a few seconds

from fire to snow

across the sky

mirroring the culture

and then sunrise was over

                  *

despite your practice

with rote repetition

coursing the same country

roads with their sharp

curves and blind rises

the ones you've been driving

over much of these lost decades

your probability of your collision

with a fiery destiny or

other catastrophic failure

increases with higher velocity

and rapid acceleration

on the route you’ve chosen

                  *

better to believe

what your eyes see

than the nonsense

the voice is yelling

through the cell phone

you're holding to your ear

                  *

and pretending to be alive

you yet text and drive

                  *

it is not manhood

that's put to the test

when you pull

your truck aside

to allow the oncoming

school bus safely to pass

even though you can

most likely understand

from the trail of dust

that the bus driver is late

on the rounds and going

a bit too fast to keep

the world safe for children

                  *

is it occasionally ok

for us to feel a bit pity

to wallow in collective guilt

                  *

when will the little shrine

with the cross and

artificial flowers remind you

that you share the road

with teenager drivers who

are in a rush to get there

but don't know how

with bicyclists and joggers

with kids and dogs and cats

with rabbits squirrels deer

and just off to the right

and left stone walls from

the civil war era that

you so often yearn for and

ancient witness trees

who would rather watch

you crash and burn

than uproot and move on

                  *

which is only to admonish

that it may feel as if

unlicensed drivers and

the old and feeble have stolen

everything from you and you have

so little time for what matters

but it only takes a moment

to die in an accident

for nothing or

as your bumper sticker

reminds those of us who

sometimes get caught behind you 

to die for something even less

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When He’s Gone