Poem - His Slowliness by Bobby D. Lux

It was with heavy hand and
drowning conscious 
that I honked at a monk
who took too long
to merge onto the 405.

"Gooooooooooo!!!" I gestured
with a fervor normally reserved
for swatting fruit flies away
from old bananas
I’m sadly certain that
I also swore at him too.
Cocksucker, for argument’s sake.

I immediately felt pretty stupid.
Because, I mean, come on,
I just honked at a monk.
An orange robed,
bald headed,
monk
who inadvertently
just taught me a lesson
about patience in this modern
world.

Who was I to rush
this lone monk on his path
driving a beat up,
old. . .

Wait a minute,
what the hell was a monk doing
driving a early 80’s
Honda Civic?

Oh yeah,
it was Halloween.

Upon further review,

it was indeed 
a righteous honk.

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