Look at her driving, cell phone in one hand
Cigarette in the other. Daydreaming.
Brake lights ahead. Sixty to ten, OH GRAND!
They are all stopping. Her tires are screaming.
She’s dropped the smoke in her lap. Her grimace
Is funny were she not such a menace.

Four lanes are all stopped now. She’s way back there
Doctoring her burned leg and explaining
To her cell phone confidant off somewhere
That it’s someone else’s fault. Complaining
About them making her late for her date.
It’s difficult for me to contemplate.

Beside me, a trucker on his CB
Above, a chopper who works for TV.