USA Taxi

I hope the driver knows something I don’t

   because from back here it looks as though we’re headed off the road

      and into a ditch.

From back here I call out to the driver

   to ask where he is taking us

   to suggest swerving the wheel

   but I fear my voice is blocked by the partition.

From back here I petition fellow members of the vehicle to join forces.

   Collectively we’re stronger.

   Maybe if we all lean the same way

      we can do something.

The driver either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care

   what we’re doing back here.

   Would he weep if he were driving a vehicle of carcasses?

   Would his destination change?

   A lot of us think we’re headed to the morgue anyhow

      sooner or later or sooner.

I fantasize about hitchhiking.

   Where are the other cars going?

   What are the other drivers like:

      better or worse or better?

The driver’s hair has gone white

   when I wasn’t looking.

   When did this happen?

   Was it age or stress?

The driver has a whimsical sleep mask on.

Let me out!

         Let me out!

~Kat Wolper

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s