Passenger

I slid into the seat

an occupant

more tattoos than hair in front of me

the sound of a gracious voice and a swift hello

a recent smell of cigarettes that did not offend 

 

This girl was a driver

but just as everything has a deeper current

so did she

we talked while the city lights ushered us by

and I listened carefully to her songs

 

“Police involvement, panic attacks, an ambulance

domestic violence-

a father trying to get his daughter out from underneath her madness, 

“I take Xanax”, she said as the car swerved back and forth

 

“I’m a nurse and a driver when I get the chance

but this world is a monster and no one’s listening”

 

I thought about war,

Hitler, Stalin 

all that age endures,

different countries, different cultures, death and the slow churn that writes us into most days

what a single beating heart can leave when they simply look away

the moon bled down against the wet mirrored high-rises and the speckled windows of late night workers still hard into their solicitudes

 

What did it all mean?

 

I told her she was not alone

perhaps better days were not so far

lose it all if you must 

find it again was a thought I kept for her

 

The car door opened…a green restaurant filled with cake and noise

I read the coming stories

picked up my Oliver and Basho

the driver pulled away

as I smiled rekindling her concerns and blowing her a life filled with more

 

At the entrance a young woman, pretty

ogled the books and led me into the bar

a cucumber martini and tuna plate to keep the wolves satisfied

 

Over the drone I stared out into Paris, into Iceland and Whales

Turkey, Russia

wondering if it all came around

wondering if it was all inside these buildings 

the moon reigned a dark blue over the headlights

I sipped and fell into a trance

how fascinated the grand architect must be

 

I left the tip and slid back into another seat

with the air now a manipulative rain

this driver was well and tame

screaming over tolls missed exits and laughter

the radio deeper than the few words of silence

this world is a monster I thought…hard at work even now.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

many things hit me here...are we just a passenger in life...and is that life, the real one, gritty, unyielding, punishing? And then the life that seems just out of reach, the one we dream about, read about in books, imagine ourselves in...that is the one that fools into thinking we could live it.
the first cabbie...talked about real life...with depth...that doesn't happen so much these days....we used to in the 60's----
but the second driver, much like many now...shallow conversations about very little that matters.
and the radio part is interesting because i am reminded of how much the music has changed, the depth of it...the scope of it.
lots to ponder here...lots involved...but for sure, you got this reader involved.
thank you for that.
j.

[Perdition]

And they are all Lyft or Uber drivers as well ...no payphones or beaded cushions, no Jodie Foster with Robert De Niro or typewriters either and wide ties. I appreciate your insight j..The experiences, well they have certainly changed and NOT changed as well but certainly the music has a different depth and our need for instant gratification has turned our living into a concrete Amazonian one touch purchase. It's more of a Wild World than ever..lol. Also a Cat Stevens fan from the seventies when Tea for the Tillerman was a must. Thanks!!