You Never Saw Me

You never saw me at all. I was on my motorcycle, riding home to my family after working all day. You were in your black Mercedes sedan, with deeply tinted windows.

With windows that dark, it's a wonder you can see anything going on outside your vehicle. I get the impression, however, that you don't concern yourself too much with what's happening out here.

When you pulled into the roundabout, you scarcely cast a glance in my direction. The conversation you were having on your cell phone was obviously much more important than the well being and safety of other drivers, or me.

As your expensive European sedan loped into the intersection, right in front of me, you were blissfully unaware. Fortunately for me, I was watching my surroundings a good deal more intently than you were watching yours.

In fact, I survive my daily two wheeled commute by watching out for the likes of you, and being prepared to take evasive action.

So when you pulled out in front of me, I was able to stop.  Did you hear the chatter of my tires on the pavement as I came to a stop?  You seemed unaware of the peril you had placed me in.  You simply slid on by.

I resumed my trip home.  Because of my own watchful eye, you'll go on to menace other drivers . . . and riders . . . like me.  And I'll go on watching out for you.