Car lengths are crucial.
Any Brooklyn driver, if patient,
Can explain that time is relative,
Especially when visiting a boring aunt.
I learned from my father that
Ours was a tradition of slightly loony,
Getting ahead drivers:
If there was an opening ... go for it!
Sadly, it didn’t stop there.
Being in the passing lane,
When but a few feet from your exit,
Meant executing a fantastically elegant maneuver.
Of course you could have transferred
Into the turning lane well in advance
Of your need to,
But that might have cost you eight or nine car lengths.
No self-respecting Brooklyn driver
Would do more than laugh at that choice:
This was the orgasmic moment,
The time you showed your neighborhood proud.
Slowing down to sixty-five in the thirty mile an hour zone,
And seeing the slower traffic in the right hand lane crawling,
With barely inches between vehicles,
It was necessary to carve a tiny space.
Waiting for just the right moment,
Knowing that the exit lane would
Disappear behind you momentarily,
Now, now it was essential to get your nose in place.
Sure, the car now being forced to brake
As you claimed occupancy of that exquisite spot
Was going to blast you with horns and curses,
Without which you could not claim victory.
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