Toad rage

Shimmers dance across the tarmac

An oasis yawns across this absolute desert of Pennsylvania highway

Car exhaust

Waves of heat and the light bends like a bad dream

The shimmers flex and snap away at my approach

They were not waters after all,

Only mirages

I’m driving down this damnable road

And there is no such thing as mercy

Because my ac is broken

What I wouldn’t give for the sharp whiff of Freon!

There are no moths upon my windshield for they have all burst into flame

Beneath this cursed sun

There is a column before me

Cars crawling on the right

Clunkers driven by decrepit old men

My skin sticks to every surface

My back to my shirt, my shirt to my seat

My palms burn on the steering wheel in this heat

And my ass is like a swamp,

I worry for the upholstery

I do not wish to slow behind this column of slowpokes

I cannot bear the thought of still air

I shall not brake

I must maintain speed

For the hot wind rushing through my windows is the only relief from my sweaty prison

I rev the engine

I will pass them

I will laugh at their decrepit old faces

As they suck the dust of my great haste

But no!

One shriveled, miserable shit pulls into the left lane!

From the rear of the column, he now blocks my escape!

I press my foot on that most hated pedal

I feel myself break

My brake lights glare red and angry like my livid soul

The air slows, and the sweat pours out of all my poor pours

I raise my voice

A quaking, desperate yell:

What the fuck!? You dumb motherfucker, go straight to hell!

This is not road rage, rising up from my throat

Thus anger is right and just

The piece of shit who just made me brake?

He deserves to be thrust aside and burnt tot a crisp in my wake

I holler

I raise my voice to the skies

The slow guy goes slower!

I realize with a cold fury I wouldn’t care if he died

I beg him to find his accelerator

And press his stupid fucking foot down upon it

Because people who go slow in the fast lane make me want to vomit

He crawls forward

In right on his tail

The column is on our right

They can probably hear me wail

Over the roar of our engines

And the woosh of their functioning ACs

I shriek that unforgivable scum in front of me can suck on deez

Finally we approach the front of the column

He matches their speed and I feel my last nerve shatter

I’m gonna ram him off the road, and laugh maniacally to dream of him splattered

For what other fate could befit such trash

As a heavy streak of road rash?

I honk the horn

I flashy lights

I stomp the gas

And I openly fly a prime finger for that dumbass

He finally gets the hint

He merges back to be right

And I floor it to fly by

As I pass I leave him one last, gracious sight

Now I’m not the most religious man

But that guy deserved to read my bumper sticker

“Get behind me, satan!”