Poetry

Road Rage

The vehicle was luminous and black,
a VW Full-Stop, as opposed to Beetle.
It made a shiny mark on Google Maps.
You got in, speechless.

He made small talk, corrected
your grammar, made your sentences full
and more revealing. Then, you noticed
his arms were all tattooed:

indigo lines dissolving under skin,
peering through work gear. You tried for the door,
but he was speeding, crushing the wheel,
until it was a crumbled pretzel

and his mouth leaked blood. That’s when you hit him,
though it was quite clear he had
laid out the crowbar for himself. In that split
second before you jammed it in his skull,

he said “I hate you, cos you’re free”. You laughed.

Maria Kardel