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Brake Check This, Motherfucker

When I left the house this morning,

I had hope,

I had purpose,
I had a plan.

 

But then a Tesla driver

decided that we all needed 

to slow down

to a gradual crawl:

   tires barely spinning

   speed limit signs laughing in amazement.

 

You.

You are the target of my rage.

Feel my righteous indignation.

Understand that you are the problem.

Society suffers when you get behind

the wheel.

 

Stay the fuck out of this stanza,

this is for people to move forward.

 

But oh, you don’t just drive slow.

No, no–

that would be too simple,

too human,

too forgivable.

 

You brake for shadows

and swerve for leaves.

You tap the brakes at a green light

as if time itself needs buffering

before you dare to continue.

 

I watch you from behind,

hands tightening on the wheel,

a pulse pounding in my temple

like a countdown to detonation.

And in that moment, I wonder–

   What went wrong in your life?

   Who hurt you?

   Do you feel joy?

   Have you ever arrived on time?

 

And then,

you pull into the left lane.

THE LEFT LANE!

As if you are entitled

to the space where dreams are chased,

where destinies are met.

YOU are the dream killer, the destiny thief.

A sentient roadblock,

a moving violation against progress itself.

 

And yet, somewhere in the simmering rage,

a thought creeps in, uninvited.

 

What if you are right?

What if I’m the problem?

What if I am the one who needs 

to slow down.

To breathe.

To stop chasing time

like it owes me something.

Maybe you are my lesson.

Maybe I should—

 

No.

Fuck that.

Move.

MOVE!

 

I lay on the horn like a battle cry.

You flinch.

You speed up.

For a moment, hope is restored.

And then–

   red light.

 

We meet again, 

as I exhale through gritted teeth.

You stare straight ahead,

pretending not to feel 

the weight of my glare.

The light turns green.

You hesitate. I do not.

I launch forward, 

peeling away,

leaving you

and your slow,

hesitant existence 

in the dust.

 

A victory, 

small and petty.

 

But mine.

©2025 by Jonathan Kelly

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