Yesterday, while driving,
the car behind me honked.
My offense:
I stopped at a yellow light.
I could have gone through,
glimpsing up at the glimmer of red
as I shot past the intersection
on my way down the road.
Chances are I would have safely
made it, and the tailing car too.
But I didn’t.
I stopped, still, waited motionless,
long seconds until the signal turned green.
The red and green lights mean
either stay stopped or keep going.
The yellow light announces transition.
Something is about to happen.
A decision needs to be made.
Conditions must be considered.
My stop was an act of rebellion,
a small protest against the value of haste,
a microaggression in a culture of speed.
I was an interrupter,
a stumbling block to acceleration,
a thorn in the side of a people
who prioritize forward thrust.
I was not the cause for alarm, but
a pause for a cause for concern.
After years of auto-human interbreeding,
speed is chromosomal, in our genes.
We are wired green for go.