rage

Her hair was perfect and a faint tattoo

Of a wreath of thorns adorned her arm.

She shook her head at me as I tried to get through.

And mouthed some words I couldn’t see.

Then as I tried to turn left she blocked me,

Her truck, SUV, whatever was blue.

But the stoplight in front of her was red. 

She was mouthing again, I decided to smile.

She smiled back, treacherously.

Blocking the street because she didn’t want me

Turning left on my street …

I searched for the law

When I got home.

And found no concrete evidence to pronounce her a jerk

In my mind. 

Who was right?  Me or her?