I could have avoided the flashing break lights, the honking horns, the middle fingers and the crawling speed on this highway, but I need to get there. Even with the tap tap of the breaks, this is the fastest way I know how, to park in the driveway, saunter up the walkway and go through the door. Accelerate. Break. Accelerate. Break. Maintain your lane. Hands on ten and two; hold that wheel like the reins you need to harness its horsepower. Try not to fall asleep. Do not answer that txt. Move. Stop. Move. Stop. With one foot from bumper to bumper, the motor hums and the air conditioning roars like an arctic breeze, my eyes darting from metal to metal as the forecast warbles on from my stereo. It becomes 4:08 p.m. and 4:09 p.m. and 4:10 p.m., until I see Exit 81. Slowly I turn from the mirage onto the off-ramp and embrace my newfound freedom, speeding faster and faster, wheels quickly spinning happily until I hit that red light at the next intersection.
This poem is Copyright 2013 by Jessica Anne McLean. All rights reserved. File sharing is encouraged.
The Rose 
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