I cannot fight the traffic,
the horrendous line of cars;
innumerable and endless,
like a road of metal stars.
They cut you off in passing,
you have to hit your brakes;
where did they get their license?
at Walmart for God's sake?
They're in a hurried frenzy,
buying Christmas presents;
they're terror on the highway,
by their very presence.
The holidays are here again,
it's mass transit in full force;
it's dodgeball on the road,
and close to home of course.
And so I do my shopping,
in the coldness of the morn;
avoiding sun and racing cars,
far from the driver's scorn.