Headlamps prick darkness
glint off metallic bumper paint.
My pulse races.

That car’s tailgating.
I’ll show ‘em
who’s boss.

I slow to a crawl,
creeping ahead
inch by inch.

I feel their breath
tickling my neck
so close.

Good, let them stew.
Let them choke
on their bile.

Don’t care if
they’re angry
as long as I sap their speed.

Rear-ending is
safer at 20 miles per hour
than at 50. S-l-o-w.

So what if they stop
at the next traffic light
to wave their hands at me?

I’m safe in my steel bubble.
Vroom, vroom.
I pull away, laughing.