Posted by Cliff Fyman
In which the night-time driver of a Manhattan cab transforms overheard conversations with his passengers into a collection of poems ...
When she first spotted my cab I had been starting to park on a snowy side street
at 2 a.m. to buy a cup of coffee
and she surprised me opening the door
and said I could still buy that coffee
she’d wait but I said that’s okay
and we mapped a course to Gowanus
then skimmed across a conversation of the world’s religions
and how her parents down south wanted her to remain a Baptist but she wanted
to explore Buddhism
as the snow fell and how a bad thing sometimes is a detour that helps us escape
something worse
till we find our way
which was just like this detour
she said through the side streets till we came into the clear at Atlantic Avenue.
In which the night-time driver of a Manhattan cab transforms overheard conversations with his passengers into a collection of poems ...
When she first spotted my cab I had been starting to park on a snowy side street
at 2 a.m. to buy a cup of coffee
and she surprised me opening the door
and said I could still buy that coffee
she’d wait but I said that’s okay
and we mapped a course to Gowanus
then skimmed across a conversation of the world’s religions
and how her parents down south wanted her to remain a Baptist but she wanted
to explore Buddhism
as the snow fell and how a bad thing sometimes is a detour that helps us escape
something worse
till we find our way
which was just like this detour
she said through the side streets till we came into the clear at Atlantic Avenue.
