The phone will rattle
in your cup holder,
knock around spare change.
Do not take your hands
off the wheel. Do not
pay it mind. You know
it will be your friend
or your boyfriend
or your mother,
but it is not as important
as you would like to believe.
Watch for red octagons,
yellow triangles, blinking lights,
and bumpers. Do not distract
yourself with questions
about what is waiting for you,
180 characters or less.
They do not want to see
your face on the news,
your mangled body
thrown from the car
blood splattered
across pavement like
a new rendition of Pollock.
If it is that important,
park to the side of the road,
check your fancy gadget,
make what call you need.
Do not become
the newest Pollock
or demented Goya,
or battle-torn Bacon.
Your life is more
than a picture in a newspaper,
your existence is more than two dates,
more than what your friends
could say while crying.
You are more important
than 180 characters.