Rage

She moved her chair into my space.
He turned without signaling,
Costing me a chance to beat the traffic.
This really angers me.

It's been a long time with no philosophical repose
To suggest I'm making any progress.
What drives the need to find fault?
Surely, the blame lies with mother.

By bedtime I don’t recall
All the outrages that marred my day.
But I feel secure in the knowledge
That I haven’t passed into enlightenment yet.

Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow might be the day
When the slow moving, lane blocking, asshole
Does not reach into my third eye
And blacken it with his blatant disregard of my nerves.

Perhaps tomorrow I will overlook
Those fools who insist that life is glorious
And offer spiritual realignment
When the situation calls for disengagement.

Because I carry the Earth on my back,
I can sympathize with Atlas.
It’s a job that doesn’t pay well
But you can’t beat the view.