Wounded Honor
Red-faced as the flag flapping from his golf cart,
The man cursed as he whipped his jowly face around,
Glaring at the car that dared to pass him,
Inflaming his sense of wounded honor.
The woman next to him flippantly waved her liver spotted arm,
Engaging her long-suffering, long learned tactics of
Managing his rage,
Dissipating his fervor,
His affronted ego
As the silver SUV passed,
A car driven by a younger woman,
A woman born into a different generation,
A different perspective,
A future that left him and his furor
Behind.