Little Blue Dodge

The don’t text while driving sign
Flashes merrily overhead
She coasts up smoothly
To her place
In the multicolored line of cars
At the red light
Safe and secure
In thousands of pounds of steel
I watch her
As she coasts by
He bowl in one hand
Tilted jauntily
So the contents slide to the bottom
Spoon in the other hand
Still coasting
Spoon scooping contents
She examines
Still coasting
The contents
Consuming the precious last drops
Of her morning’s meal
Still coasting
She glances up from the feast
And rapidly comes to a stop

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