I spent quite a bit of time in traffic yesterday. I had to drive down to LA for a few meetings, and my drive there took me 4 hours (when it should have been only 2), and the drive back took equally as long. I knew too much time had passed when I started hearing the same stories on NPR repeated once, twice, three times. Then I really knew I was in my car too long because I had time to compose the following poem on my way home!
A little preface: I received a Garmin for Christmas from my parents (a little GPS system for my car), and have been delighted by its presence. I changed the voice to a woman speaking in French, and I must say that her calming, accented voice helped me to keep my road rage to a minimal. Not only that, but when I asked her to help me avoid traffic on the 5 freeway, she took me on quite an adventure through a network of surface streets that saved me about 30 minutes! She even helped direct me to a lovely Creperie for lunch.
So as I sat, unmoving on the 5 freeway on my drive home Walt Whitman’s poem “O Captain my Captain!” sprang to mind (I think Seth or Matt must have said something about it the night before). So I looked up the poem on my phone and read it a few times, then promptly decided that I should write a poem to my newfound-Garmin-friend that mimics the style of Whitman’s famous poem. Although his poem is really an extended metaphor about the death of Abraham Lincoln in 1865, I feel that my version addresses an equally heavy subject: what happens when your Garmin’s charge runs out and you’re lost in LA?
O Garmin my Garmin!
O Garmin my Garmin! Our fearful trip is done,
The car has weathered every mile, the drive we took was fun,
The exit is near, the horns I hear, the people all are shouting,
While glaring eyes the turning wheel, the vehicle speeds while swerving,
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the dimming screen of lights,
Where on the dashboard my Garmin lies
Fallen dark, no sights.
O Garmin my Garmin! turn on and hear the honking;
Turn on – for you the finger is flung, for you the brakes squealing,
For you road rage and colorful language, for you the traffic a-stopping,
At me they shout, the irate crowd, their angry faces scowling;
Here Garmin! dear Garmin!
This hand upon your screen!
It cannot be, please not right now,
She’s fallen dark, no sights.
My Garmin does not answer, her soothing voice is silent;
My Garmin does not sense my touch, the traffic grows more violent,
I park the car now safe and sound, its journey nearly done,
From fearful trip my vehicle sits, no accidents, not a one;
Exalt O commuters and sound your horns!
But I, with bewilderment pace
Hopelessly lost, while my Garmin lies
Fallen dark, no sights.