Stop signs are for tourists

Lank hair, accent thick
as unwashed socks
and a nose,
a metronome
that sniffed every thirty seconds,

He craned forward
without stopping,
sailed his galleon,
a mark four Cortina,
straight through the intrersection.

I held my breathe,
braced for side impact,
for glass to implode
and the road to slip sideways
into heaven or hell.

He looked at me alarmed.
“Ok?” he asked,
I nodded, he sniffed.
“should you not have stopped”
I point backwards
at the stop sign

“Those” he muttered.
“Only for fucking tourists’
suggestions more than rules
and every fool knows rules
are made to be broken.

I nod, he sniffs and on we drive,
alive but barely.

-Dave Kavanagh

2 thoughts on “Stop signs are for tourists

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