The Taxi




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.