The Covenant of Traffic Laws

We call them country stops, these rolling stops. My brother once

told me not to wear out my turn signal on the back roads.

In the left-turn-only lane, I rarely signal. It is the left-turn-only

lane. Turning right, I swing wide, crossing the dotted line.

The fricative’s malcontents: lips, teeth & tongue.

When “improperly signaling a lane change,” I think I am one step closer to death. But then I think my whiteness protects me. How dare I think that, I think,

I think, how dare I not think that.