Taxi Bone / Michael McQuarrie

Momma moved like a swan

curved along vacuums

arced over dust rags

danced at sinks

jumped rope in the living room

gave great bear hugs

watered high ferns and cacti

and children that she grew like plants

the bone

came from a taxi driver

saw days of picking up fares

running meters

tick, tick, tick

mornings of slow riding

can you go faster

thrown change

no change

this whistle

that "taxi!"

those legs
tick, tick, tick

days of big yellow

counting airports

sniffing courtrooms

evenings of tiring typists

retiring clerks

smothered laborers

nights of underage drinkers

swinging bingers

beaten wives and sleeping angels

tick, tick, tick

meter running down

and down


the interval passed quickly

between disk slipped




taxi driver's bone

fit momma's neck

those days were pink bathrobe

cushion pillows

help me up

momma standing like a 2x4 ran down her spine

hiding the scar below her neck

with scarves, bandannas, kleenexes

beautiful, bold, red-eyed

dad driving the stove

brother brandishing vacuum

sister scrubbing floors

me dropping by for money

those days held pain

in momma's eyes

these days momma embraces again

hugs with both arms again

turns her head as she talks

classes, job

doesn't wear turtlenecks anymore

she moves gracefully

like sunset in a summer rain




but every so often

I swear

I can hear a meter running

tick, tick, tick,

and see a flash of zesty yellow

drive across her smile

1 comment:

Ralph La Charity said...

paints the felt & folk without too much, yea just enough --- spooky & touching