We bought a GPS.
Old-fashioned maps aren’t good enough,
At least that’s what I guess.
Instead of ink and paper,
It’s electrons from the air,
That tell us to turn right or left
To get us over there.
“Turn left in seven hundred feet,”
The voice says from the dash.
Then we must quickly think about
Which pedal we should mash.
To jump in front or sneak behind
The car that’s in our way,
There’s room between those two big trucks;
I think we’ll be OK.
We make the corner just in time,
The light is barely pink.
We wait with bated breath as Garmin
Takes a pause to think.
The voice that gives instructions
Has no malice and no scorn.
But I couldn’t hear it
O’er the honking of that horn.
It seems the guy behind us
Has a slightly different thought,
Just which part of this highway
The tax he paid has bought.
The voice comes on and tells me
The next turn we will need.
I settle in the center lane
At the posted speed.
I really thought the number
In the white sign on the post
Told the drivers on the road
The speed that is the most.
But on this road, at this time,
There seems a natural flow.
I see a car back in my mirror,
Then round me it will go.
The passing drivers frown at me
As if they want to say,
“You have no business being here
Upon this road today.”
And while it’s fun to travel
And ’round this country roam,
I start to wish that I could press
The icon that’s marked Home.