Do you dare to brave the commute?
Driving shiny boxes, focused, mute.
Look out for number one, no touchy-feely.
Rules of the road? Just suggestions, really.
Completely focused on the race,
never let them see your face.
An evil grin, hands clenched, you shrug.
G-forces thrill you like a drug.
Turn signals are a sign of weakness,
they sure don't use them at the Preakness.
A gap ahead, you go for broke,
to get there ahead of the other bloke.
You don't just race against the clock,
but compete with others, block to block.
You swerve from lane to lane with ease,
you dart and weave, but the lights they tease.
Gears grind, pedals mashed, heel and toe,
the light turns green and off you go.
Pedestrians tremble, animals flee,
scattered in your wake like leaves off a tree.
Challenges ahead, casualties behind,
temporary insanity, out of your mind.
It's not how fast you can, it's more how fast you dare.
Points accrued by making the other drivers swear.
Then suddenly over, you have arrived,
you pause and breathe, senses revived.
Leave your alter ego in the ride,
put on a human face and go inside.
But one quick look back before you go,
at your trusty steed of steel aglow.
Anticipating the race back home,
In your shiny cage of steel and chrome.
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