Happy Motoring Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Some driver cut me off
in my commute.
I swore.
At work I told a friend
still mad.
Said she,
'I scream 'God BLESS you'.'
I fell mute,
incredulous,
then foolish,
hopeless, sad.
'God BLESS you.'
Huh?
Just belch among your friends,
your manners they'll deride.
But arch and huff,
spew out with germs
far flung
and others act
as if you almost died.
Perhaps this isn't
'bout that stupid lout.
(Hey, does controlling others
ever really work?)
Perhaps,
myself is what it's all about.
'Cause next mile
I don't want to be the jerk.
I wish we all would truly
seek to please.
Perhaps rude driving's
just a moral sneeze.