Tuesday, June 12, 2007

taxi driver

This is old, from among my first impressions of India...

The driver buys rupees
With safety and speed
A skilled man for hire

With a family to feed

With a hand on the horn
And a foot on the brake,
He calculates well

The next move he will make.

Three inches to spare

Is two inches too many,
And his petrol is precious

So the shortcuts are plenty.

His fares share a faith
In their silent old guide,
And a rickety grace

Seems to govern the ride.

With awe in their eyes
And sweat on their brows,
He narrowly misses
The fat sacred cows
   And the thin mangy dogs,
   And the slow walking men,
   And the multitude starving
   On their mats in the fen.

He deftly turns left
And with might makes his rights
On a greasy black course
Marked by faint amber lights.

Through today's stagnant smells
And tonight's unseen sights
His cab rattles and veers
Through the hot Delhi nights.

1 comment:

  1. I like reading your descriptions of the local people. Thanks Nate for writing and putting it out for reading. It's good stuff. I'm looking forward to more as you write. It's a gift. Dad

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