Commuting (Edit 1.1)

[QDeathstar]

The car knows the route with no help from me
which leaves my mind open to play poetry.
The rhymes rattle 'round like coins in a monk's cup
while the radio urges me to "Funk it up!"
I shuffle stubborn stanzas and try
to find the right order as miles fly by.
A dance in my seat gets the meter to spark,
the trick's to retrieve it after I park.

I smirked.