Three useless incidents

He slams his fist into the
steering wheel
yells something
at the car in front
that failed to turn
at an apparently
opportune moment.

I hear over my shoulder
I turn to see
the ubiquitous
bird flipped
toward a white
car that just turned
the corner.

Returning to work
at yet another intersection,
a car swerves slightly,
as if changing radio stations.
The woman in the next vehicle
leans her screaming ugly head out
of the open window and nearly
ass ends the “offender.”

Looking left,
the long
snub nosed
bucket digs
another final
dirt palace in
St. John’s.

Keep up the useless rage
useless emotion
useless boil over blood
and palpitating
the backhoe
operator has
nothing but time
an open slot
next Tuesday
if you’d like
to reserve now.


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