Highway 17

Driving on black bands of licorice
Morning commute.
I hate licorice.

Incessant pounding of bass
in my ears
I like it loud.

New light blinds me
as my window fogs.
I scan for bad drivers and
wolves in sheep clothing.

Arrogant - I refuse to slow,
Passing unfortunate victims.
Breaking laws.

Safe again, I reach my destination.
The sun moves behind me.
Rewind the day.
I hate repetition.


(Note: I wrote this years ago when I lived in Charleston, SC on a dare to perform for an open mic night.)