A story unfolds
on a dark, winter's night
when sidewalks are sleeping
and shops are locked tight.
A single man stands,
his arm raised in prayer,
awaiting a taxi
to bring here to there.
The cab, when she stops,
is hunkered and yellow;
a door open in welcome
beside the young fellow.
The interior is warm,
like a comforting embrace,
shutting out the world
and the harsh weather's face.
The man, he requests
to the driver ahead
a lift to his home
and his soft, comfy bed.
The meter is pressed,
the numbers, they tick,
as the driver agrees
to bring him there quick.
But the driver, he knows
what's in the man's heart
and he slips through the city
to a whole different part.
The man is displeased,
his expression is grim,
as the taxi drives streets
unknown to him.
Answers are demanded:
what is the driver doing?
He makes threats and says swears
and contemplates suing.
Another block over,
the taxi glides to a stop
by a house with blue shutters
and a chimney on top.
The meter stops ticking
and the cab driver turns,
his hand is extended
for the money he's earned.
The man, he refuses,
tells the driver he's failed.
His bed was not here
and his sleep was derailed.
The driver just smiles
and imparts so wisely,
"You're not where you want,
but where you should be."
The front door has opened,
the light casts a glow
where a young woman stands
in a small drift of snow.
The man catches her eye
and remembers their fight.
He knew at that moment
that the driver was right.
Money changes hands
and the man rushes from the cab.
Apologies fall from his lips
about being such a cad.
The woman, she forgives
and invites him inside,
forgetting about the taxi
that gave him the ride.
The driver smiles again,
and the cab pulls away,
searching through the night
for another man to save.