Put Me Out of My Misery This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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Tell me, sir, what is the deal?
I have no idea why you are even allowed behind the wheel.
Do you realize that you are going ten below?
I don’t believe there is any snow ...
I don’t see fog, rain or sleet.
The roads are dry, clean and neat.
You don’t appear elderly, or handicapped, I’m sure.
So I’m still wondering why your slow speed is a disease that

can’t be cured.
I am growing old while driving behind you.
I wish I had a plow on my car so I could just ram right through.
The lines are an evil double, and will be for a straight 20 miles.
The sign says 45, but I guess you are in denial.
You are driving so slowly for no apparent reason at all.
Where is the excitement, I’m sure having a ball.
I guess I’ll have to wait until those lines break
Until then, I’ll just sit here, regretting my mistake
Of letting you pull out at the intersection back there
Just some old guy in a Buick, with a license plate that says Pierre
I wonder if the reason you are driving so slowly is because you are from France,
Or because you don’t want to spill hot coffee all over your khaki pants?
Whatever the reason, I’m paying for it while sitting here
Just waiting for your Buick to disappear
So I can break free, allowing my speedometer to rise

As you can tell, slow drivers are what I despise.

by Pete Myette, Shirley, MA

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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