He presses pedals, rushes fast,
Drives impatiently,
Angrily past plastic, glass and metal.
Cuts through slow, slimy snails,
driver’s bane,
switches lanes,
swerves, then goes slow
and blocks their lane
For revenge.
He drives
with geometric precision,
with a drive to drive,
eyes of tiger,
half-a-smile.
Lingering fingers or eyes
on screen, not his way,
his style is simple,
not a moment extra
spent on road.
Rage erupts when he outdrives,
with a war to wage
every moment.
How could he, she, or they,
delay him for a second?
Mon semblable, mon frère?
You know him.
Don’t you?
Published at: https://www.scarletleafreview.com/poems9/rajnish-mishra-poems
rajnishmishravns 