 |
 |
| Home Poetry About Events Workshops A fracking conspiracy Poetic Portraits Instructions Shop Gallery Contact |
| Chapter 2 |
|
|
Chapter 2 – Monday 6:02pm
The taxi cab was green and gold, the driver, pinky white.
His thick dark hair was streaked with grey. His eyes were dark and bright.
His accent was a Scotsman’s, with a soft and gentle tone,
It had served him well enough before. But now he was alone.
Different city, different folk; no one knew his name;
That once he’d been an actor; that he’d touched the edge of fame.
He called himself Roberto, though his real name was Frank,
And driving wasn’t great, but it was money in the bank.
And sometimes he would meet the very craziest of folk,
So he’d put his alter ego on: angry Scottish bloke.
And his fares would leave him once they’d said their destination,
And the drive would pass by pleasantly with little irritation.
And so it was, a woman had requested, ‘Gatwick please’.
She’d put her seatbelt on and wrapped her arms around her knees.
It was clear she was crazy as she huddled there beside him.
But Frank could feel something dormant stirring deep inside him.
Mostly when they sat up front, they also wanted talk,
And Frank would ask politely if they’d rather stop and walk.
But this one didn’t say a word. She didn’t show her face.
She just sat rocking gently as the taxi gathered pace.
They crawled into the traffic moving up and down in gear,
And Frank was glad, for once, that the airport wasn’t near.
He weaved his cab from lane to lane. Other drivers cursed.
So he stepped into his alter ego, just as he’d rehearsed.
Veronica sat up now, and gently smoothed her hair,
And Frank observed no craziness, but something like despair.
He couldn’t understand why but, inside, he felt delighted.
He wanted to express it but he had not been invited.
As they drove away the city faded like a dream:
The motorway enveloped them like chocolate mixed with cream.
They cruised into the outside lane – the world was still and silent.
So when the lorry hit them it was sudden. It was violent.
Crunching metal, screaming breaks, the sudden rush of air,
Frank looked at Veronica – she held him in her stare.
He held her too; they held each other. All of time had frozen.
And quietly they knew that, on some level, they’d been chosen.
Ambulances, fire engines, police cars had arrived,
Astounded that Veronica and Frank had both survived:
The taxi had been crushed from the back seats to the boot,
And drivers were informed that they must find a different route.
The motorway was scattered with Veronica’s possessions:
Her sexy undergarments and her diary’s dark confessions.
Her photographs were whipped away upon the winds of change.
And leaving everything behind seemed easier than strange.
The police had phoned the airport to secure another flight
At Veronica’s insistence – “No! I need to leave tonight.”
Frank had sat with her in the airport café zone,
And when her flight was called, he waved,
He knew that they had both been saved.
He also knew now what he craved:
Not to be alone.
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
 |
| |
| Please leave comments here using your Facebook account |
|
|
| |
| |
