walk from here, i tell
the cab
driver.
let me out here.
i reach over the seat
and drop
him his money.
but it's raining, he says.
i can take
you the next three
blocks,
we're almost there.
it's okay,
i tell him.
i like walking in the rain.
go on,
go on, it's okay.
i'm alright.
hurry, you're going to
miss the light.
1 comment:
There are no cab drivers anymore, no big yellows
to hail on the New York City street. There are Uber
drivers and Lifts, share-a-ride. In the old days
you could walk out into a rainy night and keep on walking
knowing somehow you would make it home.
Eh. .. okay well out of practice on the response poems.
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