Watched beige painted, plastic blonde
In high-fashion, aviator’s mirrors,
Citrus sports car,
Dance her San Fernando weave
Across six lanes of elevated concrete,
Avoid rubber and steel,
Easy eighty miles per hour,
While with careless strokes
She mussed titanium hair.
Missed her exit three miles ago,
Late for therapy, again…
Like, you know,
There was this sale?

Sat behind two angry, flapping geese,
Listened as they exchanged greetings,
Saw both trade impolite gestures,
In high octane heated
Assertion of an implicit right to occupy
The same space at the same time
As if
Manhood was somehow impugned
By one automobile’s length.
Didn’t either realize
We were all headed nowhere fast?

Passed by sleek, barracuda limousine,
Extended stretch,
Keep-your-distance black
Suburban assault vehicle.
Wondered about the over-copious wealth
That could compel anyone to harness
Such a horrible, fanged beast
Dredged from La Brea’s depths,
Force-fed on its long-deceased brothers.

Turned off lemming freeway for points east
Out of tar bludgeoned city,
Only to pick up another gray ribbon,
Stutter-striped in reflection yellow -
Beyond, into slow living desert,
Fast lane left, sought
Lighter traffic in mirage haze.