His car stalls.
A 1977 brick, the most
his old man will give.
From behind, the horns lash and beat.
He closes his eyes a second,
lets them all blow. In the noise
He goes there.
Somebody shouts, “Green
means go, mother fucker!”
And he thinks, “Fuck you, dad,”
turns the key.
First published in Read This #15, 2009.