Whose car that is I damn well know,
They’re texting freely as they go.
Five tons of car drifts through my lane;
The cellphone driver’s here again.
Sedan, coupe, hybrid, SUV,
Blind fists of moron deities,
Those gods of connectivity,
Of memes, upvotes, and vanity.
Will cellphone driver lift his eyes
In time to avoid my demise?
Or will I be wiped off all maps
By someone swiping dating apps?
For by the typing of his thumbs,
Someone Wi-Fi’d this way comes.
He’ll run you down and not regret it,
And then call your mom fat on Reddit.
Does screen time steal our empathy?
I don’t know; it’s unclear to me.
Yet though social media’s thriving,
Please stay off while you’re fucking driving.
I’d like to harpoon cellphone drivers,
Burn their cars, leave no survivors.
But I’ll ride safe and be discreet,
And not use my phone on the street.
There’s miles to go before I tweet.