Tuesday, July 14, 2009


There's not a lot around that gets my goat,
just mostly when I'm driving in my car,
my driving skills do give me cause to gloat,
the other drivers fail to earn my star,
you'd think they all were homeward from a bar.
That's when they act like monsters in a cage
and fill the streets with terror from road rage.

Their antics push my buttons, I must say,
and gives concern to safety they neglect.
I guess it's just the price I have to pay,
I'll give them lots of room, but no respect.
Their attitude's a thing that I expect.
I pray to God I never reach that stage,
a victim of the anger called road rage.

In stressful times I tend to count to ten,
and hope the problem leaves before I'm done.
I feel it both from women and from men,
these treks on open roads aren't that much fun.
My instinct tells me "Go and get your gun".
I've learned quite young the way I should behave
and hold my tongue to keep me from this rave.

One, two, I start the countdown as I go,
the guy besides me flips his cigarette.
Wondering just how much this jerk will show,
before this journey ends in my regret.
I should count faster, or I'll get upset
and lose my cool to end up in a heap,
I'll not fall prey to anger from this creep.

Three, four, five, the teen beside me's speeding,
see her weave in traffic with so much ease.
Speed limits for sure she is exceeding,
"Try slowing down you moron, if you please?
Her tail wind seems to kick up quite a breeze
and as her miles per hour are increased.
I pray to God nobody ends deceased.

Six, seven, eight, that guy is on his cell,
he is so darn distracted, there's no doubt,
his skills are on a one way road to hell,
"Please park along the road and talk", I shout.
Park he does, but then he starts to get out.
To look at him, this guy is surely pissed,
I drive away as phone-boy shakes his fist.

So I reach ten, my stomach starts to churn,
this counting didn't save me from this fire.
A rumble with a slow and steady burn,
this isn't the effect that I desire.
You caused this skid to conflagration's ire.
I turn the wheel hard, my car does pitch,
"You cut me off, you stupid son-of-a...

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