Hailing A Cab

 I’m assuming my desire

to be driven somewhere

will be like a siren call

to a taxi driver’s

need to make money.

But I’ve been standing

on this sidewalk for

a half hour with my hand raised.

And none of those

yellow cabs have stopped,

or even slowed a little.

So they’d rather be on their way home

or onto a fare other than mine.

Or could be they sense

that I don’t really want

to go where I’m going to

after all and they’re really

doing me a favor.

I could take a bus of course.

One rumbled by here not five minutes ago.

Slower of course

so maybe it’s not so much the place

but the time that’s not urgent enough in me.

Taxis are on the lookout for genuine passion.

But buses will take ambivalence.

Otherwise there’d be no commuters.

 

John Grey is an Australian born poet, works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Poem,
Caveat Lector, Prism International and the horror anthology, “What Fears Become”
with work upcoming in Big Muddy, Prism International and Pinyon.

Tagged poetry