RACING TO TAI CHI CLASS

 

Racing to tai chi class

zoned out, centered,

rolling on down that country road.

Suddenly! on the outskirts

of the petticoats of town,

cops everywhere.

Directly under the thirty-five miles per hour warning

partially obscured

by a budding cherry tree

computer board flashes

my automotive velocity.

“Your speed is,” the sign says, “Oh, my God…”

Cops can’t believe their radar eyes.

I look at that glowing digital readout.

I laugh. Ha! A younger man,

damn machine wouldn’t have

enough numbers.

Zoned out already. Centered,

rolling on down the highway

into Congested Area

Suddenly! Racing to tai chi class,

zoned out, centered

rolling on down that country road.

“Your speed is” the sign says, “thirty miles per hour.”

Ha!  That’s too funny not to celebrate.

Middle finger at attention,

I flip the cops everywhere

the bird, waving my hand

like a parade princess.

Suddenly!

Pulled over, racing to tai chi class.

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