That wasn’t you right?
Honking your horn?
Fecklessly railing
against the observably
inescapable circumstances
you too are compelled to share
with literally everyone around you?
Literally.
As if I would not release my brakes
were there sufficient space
in front of my car
to occupy it.
As though to indicate
I ought to drive through
observably
indisputably
red
traffic lights.
We have, as a people
agreed after all.
Red means stop.
Green means go.
Shirley you jest.
That kind of person
would
never use their indicator lights,
would
gleefully excrete in a crowded elevator
trapped between floors.
Would bring nothing to Thanksgiving dinner.
You Karen be kidding me.
On a Monday, no less.