rules of the road

without looking both ways,
i start to cross the street.
a car turning right doesn’t stop;
i leap back, scared,
as my mother grabs my arm
and the driver leans on the horn.
“i had the right of way,”
i exclaim, indignant.

my mother is unimpressed by my knowledge
of the rules of the road,
maybe because she taught them to me.
“it’s like my mother always said,” she says,
“you can be right - ”
“or you can be dead right,” i finish.
she’s fond of her mother’s pithy sayings;
there are a hundred more that i could recite.
“but i was actually right,” i say,
smiling because I know she’s actually right,
as usual.