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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Suggested Torture” cc&d (v261) (the March/April 2016 issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Clouds over the Moon the cc&d Jan. - June 2016 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Pedestrian Rage

Elizabeth Harper

You’ve heard of road rage, of course,
when the frustration of sharing the road
with inconsiderate putzes and assholes
gets to those drivers who
just can’t take it anymore and
they start shooting their fellow
road-hogs. Those are the most
extreme cases. Milder cases of
road rage are happening all the time
in the form of flipping people off,
swearing, throwing things, and
driving even more aggressively, etc..

Well, I have pedestrian rage.
You may think I actually mean sidewalk rage,
because that would be the analogous construction,
and I do have rage on the sidewalk,
but also when I’m crossing the street,
or in the shopping mall or grocery store.
I avoid going to the grocery store
or mall on busy Saturdays because I just know
I’m going to kill someone. And my rage
is not just for my fellow pedestrians,
but also cars, bicycles, roller skaters,
baby strollers, wheelchairs, walkers, etc..
And dogs! If I didn’t find them too repulsive
to be near I would certainly kill them
and bake them into doggy pies
and feed them to their obnoxious,
oblivious owners who let their dogs shit
everywhere so it gets in people’s shoe treads
and keeps getting spread around, stinking up the place.
And dog shit definitely smells worse than people shit.

Why am I so mad? Well, I’ll tell you.

The main reason is that people are slow
and won’t get out of my way.
How can they not understand
that when you’re on the sidewalk and
there are people behind you, you can’t
just stop in the middle of the sidewalk or
walk at a snail’s pace and block anyone
from getting around you and passing you?
Don’t they understand that some of us
have places to go?! Or people who come
to the end of the escalator and just stand
there so that everyone behind them ends
up smashing into them if they can’t
squeeze around them. But there’s more.
There are the drivers who come
speeding around the corner so fast
I think they’re going to run me down
when I have the light. So when that happens
I scream at the top of my lungs
“I HAVE THE LIGHT, ASSHOLE!”
while giving them the finger and crossing the street,
and those motherfuckers just have to wait
BECAUSE IT’S MY FUCKING TURN.
But the people who cross against the light
on a busy street have earned my wrath as well.
They mess everyone up. The cars can’t obey
their light without running them over,
so the cars end up in the middle of the street,
trying to turn, when pedestrians who do follow
the lights finally get the green.
Is it any wonder that things in
this country are so fucked up
when people can’t even figure out
how to follow traffic lights?
What could be simpler than red and green?
Even porn stars get what red and green mean.
Maybe porn stars should be running the country.
Maybe to be allowed to vote, or even just drive,
people should have to submit a porn movie
of themselves doing a S & M scene
where red means stop and green means go.
If knowing what they meant was the only way
to have any control over how much pain
you were feeling in your pussy, or
how tight your ball stretcher was,
you’d figure it out or be sorry.

And why are those bicycles on the sidewalks
when the sign clearly says
“No Bicycles on the Sidewalk”
in pictorial form, so not being able to read
isn’t even an excuse. What do they think
that big line across the picture of the bicycle means?
And if you can’t maneuver
one of those big double or quadruple strollers,
maybe you shouldn’t have had so many kids
or maybe you shouldn’t take them out of the house
all at once until they can walk.
And if you can’t work your wheelchair or walker,
hire a damn healthcare worker to push you.
I’m sure there are lots of people who would like the job.
Or just don’t leave home, because
I sure as hell am not going to pick you up
off the sidewalk when you tip over.
I’m more likely to kick you all over and
stomp on your face and
wipe the dog shit from my shoes on you.

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