She kept laughing
even though it wasn’t funny,

shrinking in the presence
of two men sent to interrogate her
about her purity,

the red brand hidden under her tongue
that she tried to hide under nervous giggles,
tried to mask with inappropriate joviality.

She tried to desperately communicate what had made her
choose the wrong side of the road
between laughter and sobbing.

She tried
and failed
to make them understand
what had made them think of her as a hysterical and trivial woman,
the stereotypical horrible driver,
unable to stay in her emotional lane.