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.

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