Sunday, April 19, 2009

An Angry Poem...

Thank God for the Darwin Awards.

Six fifteen Sunday morning
no traffic, so naturally the one in front of me
can’t keep his lane or speed.
I ease by and see his fingers dancing,
eyes riveted to his device
flicking up occasionally to correct the drift
of his twenty five hundred pound missile.
As I ponder what could be so fucking important
that he’d text at sixty five miles per hour,
he finishes, laughs, punches it,
and disappears at eighty five in the right lane.

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