Taxi Ride
By jennifer
- 7830 reads
Taxi Ride (28th March, 2011)
He rolls the window down: ‘Need a ride?’
I nod, open the car door, slip inside.
The smallest moments, they define our lives:
I should be walking home; too short a drive.
‘So, what’s your name, Love?’ he turns to smile
As we begin the trip of half a mile.
Taxi drivers are like Dads, aren’t they?
Slightly fat, middle-aged. Completely safe.
We start to play the conversation game:
Small-talk, wag-chin, time-pass, seems so lame.
Dark slicks the windows: I should be home;
I realise that, bar him, I’m quite alone.
I slide down in the seat, ask where we are;
See, too late, we’ve driven miles too far.
My phone vibrates as I receive a text:
He reaches, pulls it from my hand. What’s next?
My skirt is far too short; there’s too much leg.
Self-conscious and afraid, I second-guess
His intent. He stops the car. Fast breaths.
The smallest moments, they define our deaths.
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Comments
Hi jennifer, I live in
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I do know what you mean
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it's exactly as you describe
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Dark poem, yet the reality
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Unfortunately, England is
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I agree with Mark (Dynamaso)
SteveM
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A fitting tribute to such a
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This is our Facebook and
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Hi there Jennifer, It is
Aim for the stars then if you fail you might still land on the moon, and that's not a bad second best.
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really liked -good stuff -i
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I can't add very much
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Hi again, Jennifer. Now I
TVR
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I can't help feeling sorry
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Blighter's - is that an
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i love and respect and am
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Very well written. The
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