she's the devil

the cab driver wants to tell
me a story.
a long story, but I don't want
to hear it.
it involves his mother in law
and a dog.
something about barking
and chewing shoes. how she is
meddling in his life.
i nod to him in the mirror,
making facial expressions
to fit the words that spill
out of his mouth.
sometimes he'll hit the dashboard
with his hand
to give an exclamation to a point
he is making.
his dark eyes blink wildly,
then get wider as the story
advances. can you believe it
he says.
she's the devil, the devil.
this is my stop, I tell him.
you can pull over here.
this is good.
I start counting out some bills,
but he doesn't stop. I won't
charge you, he says, turning
off the meter. but I have more
to say, he keeps driving.
you won't believe this next part.
he lifts a bag of chips
to the top of the seat
and asks me if I want some,
then continues talking,
driving madly, beeping his
horn as he barely avoids
collisions.