I Know The Way Home

Carlin D

24

Beep. Incoming text. I know the way home. My mom texts me about dinner. Something about what I want to eat I tell her anything. I keep messing up the letters with just one hand I roll my eyes at the autocorrect anytime. anywhere. nothing. not one thing. anybody? I watch a speed limit sign grow small in my rearview mirror Beep. Incoming text. I know the way home. She asks if there is traffic I barely look up for the left turn. I throw my phone to the passenger seat when I hear the sirens. Not for me. Not for me. Not for me. I hold my breath when I see the wreck Release. I watch the ill-fated passengers grow small in the rearview mirror. Beep. Incoming text. I know the way home. Mom tells me dinner is getting cold I roll my eyes and get off my exit I think about classes and my exes I blast my music. I don’t answer my mother. I yawn and wipe my eyes I watch the highway grow small in my rearview mirror. Beep. Incoming text. I look down at my phone. Beep. Incoming text. I look down at my Beep. Incoming text. I look down. Beep. Incoming text. I look. I watch myself crash in the rearview mirror I grow small in the rearview mirror. I am put on a stretcher in the rearview mirror. Beep. Beep. Beep. I open my eyes in the hospital. Beep. Beep. Beep. My pulse shoots up on the machine. I wonder if dinner is cold. I knew the way home.


Description

My poem outlines the destructive effects of distracted driving through its repetition and narrative styles. I chose to reflect both text message beeping and hospital beeping.