Lazy Lane

Oh, God. How they drive
me insane. Those people
who hug the middle lane.
They call themselves drivers
while engaging in diverse
occupations.
In conditional air
they smooth their hair,
and while picking their noses
they point at the roses
that keep the reek of death
from their route.
Tootling like Toad, they hug
the middle of the road,
so blissfully unaware.
Then with superior glances suggest
to forward advances, they know best.
You've no right to be there.
If they would only travel
with a tad more respect I rather
suspect we'd all get more out
of our cars. And instead
of jams and rages and rams,
we'd arrive where we're going;
ahead.
Oh, those people who hug
the middle lane. God.
How they drive me insane.