The Extra Mile

If I were walking late at night
and you trotted up beside me --
just the two of us in the middle
of eight quiet lanes of black --
we would've talked long enough
to learn the details of our jobs,
or how many kids we had at home,
or where each of us dreamed
of going on our next vacation.

As it happened, we were driving.
All I saw were your white eyes
flashing mine blind
within a foot of my bumper.
You swerved like a racer to my right
and pasted one sharp finger
against the tinted glass.

Scott Speck
03/05/2002