Today I saw a lady in her car
burning with eyes of vitriol,
piercing my soul with a grimace whose sharpness even Excalibur would only dream of,
accusing me of some unknown crime.
She turned her head, dark curls swaying
to momentarily check the traffic and move forward an inch,
then resumed her unspoken slander against me.
I was relieved to see the cars begin to move yet again,
and just as she was about to leave,
she delivered me a gift
of finely manicured
middle finger.