I'm second of three, all stopped on red,
in a right-turn lane. NO TURN ON RED
on two big signs, out wide, up high,
both in clear view, and still the guy
in the truck behind me honks away.
So the chick—check that—the bird of prey
in front of me then twists around,
locks eyes on me, and next unwound
a single talon straight at me
to start the next road rage grand prix.
I didn’t use my car to fight,
but laughed at the absurdity
of this abrupt epiphany:
two wrongs in fact can make a right.