Driving down the road, on my way home.
Stopped traffic in an intersection.
I crane my neck:
A city bus has made a stop.
Impatient, I don’t think
I change lanes when I see a space, tiny as it may be
And suffer the wrath
A silver Honda honks
Then, speeds up to pass me
Window rolled down,
Hoarse female voice:
When, on the senseless maze of freeway that circumscribes Las Vegas
I have been cut off
I do not feel rage, though I might honk.
I’m reminded of the temporal nature of life.
I smile, give thanks
And continue on.
Back in the present, though:
Continued yelling from the woman in the silver Honda.
I do not hear.
But I laugh internally
For even though I am in the wrong this time
They are the ones who have lost.