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