92 in 7

You’re 3rd up in the zone 92

When I drove cab it was radio dispatched

We lived as much in our imaginations as we could

Given the vivid reality of big city streets

Cabs were large and powerful

Built to pack passengers in on sagging bench seats

I’d cruise through traffic in downtown streets

Like a shark knifing through the waters of a coral reef

92 away south


Away south Vickie

Click click click

Gotcha 92

When I drove cab it became a confessional

People would open up and spill their guts

Tell me things they’d done that would leave me shocked

Until the crazies piled up so much I became unshockable

So when a dominatrix had her leashed and leathered slave

Cower on the floor

On all fours

All the way to the ‘burbs

I barely batted an eye

But couldn’t help arching an eyebrow

When she made him pee like a dog on a shrub outside their door

As I was recording the fare on the tripsheet

Every day, every night was an adventure

When I drove cab

David Trudel  © 2013


Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “92

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