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Taxi Driver

He traps you in his mirror
As if spying for stories
Some absent part of himself

There is a glass wall between you
Through which his hard eyes
Chase the traffic with you

He is effervescing with tales
Hoarded in his brain like used stamps
Opened at a random page

He keeps each yarn warm and closed
As if protecting kittens in his palms
Which mewl and scratch for attention

He would make the perfect secret agent
Unassumed and quintessentially
The opposite of Cambridge chic

When you've hopped from his cab
It hits you. You've told him your life story
And you know nothing of him

© David Incoll 2001

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Copyright by David Incoll 2001