You read the sign—
but you do not drive
like your kids live here:
in neighborhoods of family love.
Where children play
while you push the pedal.

Pump that bass…
narcissist fool.
Scowl like a thug,
you noise polluter
(another twenty-something commuter)
flooring it
towards a club
towards a red light
in the dead night
of your dim bulb.
Save it
for your kid’s first car.
Get over yourself—
save yourself, get saved

and then:

live like your kids drive here!

Self-absorbed young folks
in your devilish contraptions:
chill out. Read Haiku