Poetry

Litanies Against Dying, 10 (192.)

I always wanted a rocket launcher
attached to my car somewhere,
or maybe a better offense
would require two rocket launchers,
one on either side of the car,
but anyway –
every time some rude bag of dicks
speeds past me and barely merges
between me and the car 1.2 car-lengths ahead of me
right as the merge lane peters to nothing,
I comment to myself
“I wish I had a rocket launcher.”
Today, I didn’t fire any ballistic missiles
from my middle finger
(the ol’ missile finger) –
I just shrugged in an exaggerated way
and kept driving.
I moved into the fast lane, only to find
that the dickbag who cut me off
had the same fucking idea.
To my amusement, they didn’t even drive
that much faster than we’d been driving
in the other lane.
So I practiced patience,
kept right behind them,
and realized that it was the classic 5 o’clock
stretch of slowness.
Everyone was getting into the “fast lane”
and slowing down ’cause there was no room
for speedsters.
So a second bag of dicks comes roaring up behind me
in a black convertible, top rolled down,
and he must have thought I’d speed up or somethin’
’cause he didn’t hit the brakes
until late, late, late.
He didn’t hit me, but damn, he got close.
So he’s drivin’ slow, and I’m drivin’ slow, and the dickbag
who sped past me earlier
is drivin’ slow,
and we’re all in rush hour traffic together.
At last, with a few minutes left of my homeward commute,
the middle lane opens up.
Dickbag number one heads into the middle lane
and picks up his pace by, like, maybe 5 mph,
while dickbag number two
heads into the middle lane as well,
speeding like a fucking demon
whose arm got chopped off and needs to be reattached asap,
and, wouldn’t you know it,
HE HAS TO SLOW DOWN ‘CAUSE DICKBAG NUMBER ONE
IS DRIVING AT A REASONABLE PACE.
Those two idiots.
I watched them suffer together,
and god –
in that moment, I didn’t need a rocket launcher.

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