Friday, April 10, 2009

Thursday, April 9, 2009: On the Street…Fifth Ave., NYC

Taxicab Confessions

It’s been years since I’ve driven a car—six,
Since I moved to the city. I’ve grown to love the cabs,
As we all have. Come on, admit it—
Cabs provide a kinder, gentler version
Of servitude. Butlers gave way
To smiling concierges in hotels,
Cooks have pristine prestige, clanging
Pots and cutlery proudly. We still have maids,
And their knees still ache, but they’re paid by the hour,
Or should be. The taxi driver is our
Valet. I’ve toppled into black back seats
Crying, drunk, giddy, absorbed
In processing the day, the cool city
Air streaming into the car
While the driver asks, “Where do you want to go?”

1 comment

  1. It's funny you should call N.Y. cabs a kinder gentler anything. My daughter and her friends believe they're a malignant life form swarming the streets just waiting to take over and in the meantime consuming unwary pedestrians - but only when no-one is looking so it doesn't happen often. Yet.
    Reading your poems feels like eavesdropping on a novelist in the throes of creating his cast as much as it feels like people watching. Good stuff.


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