I love
the
lane
exchanges
black Benz
wants to
go right
I need
to go left
our lights
flicker at
each other
one of us
makes the
first move
then,
permission
and transmission
received,
we each
go.
It feels
like
dancing.
There is
poetry
hurtling
on the
highway
at seventy-five
miles an hour.
narinda heng 
I like this, although the rain makes me think that LA drivers have two left feet.