the left lane

the car behind me wants me to move.

he's flashing his lights.

it's nine o'clock on a sunday morning.
he honks his horn.

waves his finger at me.
he wants this lane, it's his right.

I see his lips moving, cursing me
as we drive along at
70 miles per hour,
with all the lanes full beside
us.

there is nowhere to go, to give him
space.

I sip my coffee and hold onto
the wheel.

he's inches away. his life,
my life in his hands.

this is the world we live in now.