Drive

I am racing.

Not just the foot on pedal,

tires on concrete

kind of racing.

Hand tapping against steering wheel,

pushing through the stations

for background noise I can stand to

half-listen to.

And my mind,

jumping here and there

faster than

a speeding bullet

or some other cliché.

In my head,

in the zone.

Barely noticing the light turn yellow,

red

and pass by.

Stop.

Fifteen feet too late.

Back to reality.

Now slowly heading home.