You tried to drag me off at the lights,
Your car was thrumming and yellow.

I saw what was ahead of us both
Down the road,
A closed lane and a road-working fellow.

Something told me you were one of those drivers
Who measures his dick by his speed.

With your hat on backwards,
Your sunglasses white
And your wheels too big for your steed.

I studied the lights,
Counting them down

(Don’t feel special, I do that each time).

When the red turned to green,
You smoked-up your fat wheels
And left me for dust at the line.

Or so you thought.

See, I drive a fast car,
And I drive it quite well.
We chicks aren’t as incompetent as you think.

When you lurched away,
Spewing smoke all the way,
I too left my spot on the road.

I pressed my foot down
With great calm and control.
And propelled my car forward too.

And passed you. Just like that.

So a little old lady with grey in her hair,
Bopping along to
Michael Buble

Out-performed you at something
You thought you did well.
Made you look rather, well…lame.

And how did you respond?

You stuck to my arse
Until we were far down the road.
Hurling abuse with venom and hate.

And then when you could
(being stupid, I add)
You pulled up beside me
And yelled that I had…

“No penis!!”

Well, duh. Moron. Of course I don’t have a penis. I’m a woman, idiot.

(Yeah, I suck at poetry. But I must admit, I laughed myself silly driving home from the supermarket today after the above encounter. Seriously, the look on the guy’s face when he saw a woman driving the car that had beaten him–not by driving like an idiot, but by NOT driving like an idiot–was both priceless and hilarious. So priceless and hilarious it moved me to poetry. But don’t worry, I won’t do it again. Promise *grin*)