Poem: GPS

My husband takes instruction from the GPS girl, not from me.

He puts her on before his seatbelt

to make sure he finds the way

between our driveway and the street.

He doesn’t think she’s bossy 

when she tells him to take

Palm instead of Elm, 

or U-turn back to where he started

in the middle of the road.

She doesn’t get upset when he is late 

or cranky when he’s lost, 

just continues speaking sweetly

so he senses her support.

If she says left and I say right, 

he tells me to be quiet.

She doesn’t know about

construction by the park 

that will coat his just-washed 

vehicle with dust 

or that Doheny is one way

till Monday on account of

the gay pride parade.

In my next car, I want a manly GPS

who talks to me in Gauloises-sexy French.     

It doesn’t matter 

I don’t speak the language —

I’m not really looking for directions.

Paula Rudnick is a former television writer and producer who has spent the past 30 years as a volunteer for nonprofit organizations.