Mr Taxi Man, I Don’t Know Your Name

Too fast, too fast down this midnight lane.  He’d tell a story staring straight ahead, dashboard blue lights highlighting half of his wicked face.  Eyes dancing, skittering across the road ahead.  A story of shame and abuse and that high laugh piercing my ears at unexpected moments.  Nerves on edge, orange back lit speedometer bar moving moving moving higher higher higher.  Tighter grip and nerves jangling, shrieks and maniacal laughs.  Talks about lost old men on old lost highways and routeways, police capturing and returning them like lost wild animals, misbehaving and barn razing.  Eyes glazed, the midnight road eggs us on to yonder, to our certain doom.

His laugh is the cruelest joke though, coming as it does in random fits and giggles.  Just when I think he is on the verge of admitting shock or horror at inhumane treatment he unleashes it, a cattle prod designed to keep me awake and alert at all times.

His face, tear stained pitted with bitter rain, a figure of discontent, a rum swansong of a love long lost.  My bitter state sealed with an awful fate, mangled car crashed ruined city, last stop a black ambulance, body bag deals a silent fate.