I have discovered I prefer to walk with it tucked safely
beneath my descending aorta –
to me, it is the last bit of comfort a dying man will see.
Some avoid it at every cost and I – like them –
lock doors, pay insurance,
stop at red lights most times.
Every chance it gets, it punches me into its satnav
and with claws out cruises like one lost,
finds me like one sent –
I would have tried to hide
in the days before my voice broke, but now
I take it in daily doses, keep it on the nightstand
like one who suffers chronic mediocrity –
It watches me still my daughter as she wakes,
hovers while I offer morning prayers
so I’ll remember to drive slowly like a person,
reeling in those moments not caught on the Internet.