The quiet nights with fading lights,
Lone girls on their way through,
going to their sweetheart’s arms,
as the stars fade between heavy storm clouds.
It was such a shame:
Joey took a taxi feeling alive,
in the backseat with Shane
biding his time,
the wind gives a smile somewhere
down the line, they’re
on their way home from the bistro
Casa Blanca’s on a 58 Corvette,
broken down car, crammed with
swear words under its hood.
The taxi driver was a family man,
two kids and half a wife,
average in height, slightly plump,
lips like bagels.
No one saw the taxi driver,
except for his right hand,
which was rough lazy holding
the wheel lightly, hung,
relaxed over the music from the radio,
top hits twenty-twenty soul vision.
Parking meter streets hiss by the mile,
the car swerves down alleys, up the hills,
The driver tells Shane the song that plays
is about his wife, while Joey’s sitting around
snoozing, hanging his head hurting his neck.
There’s a couple arguing in a gateway,
the man’s making for a getaway, but she won’t let up,
they both stop as they see the taxi stalling by,
Joey wakes up and gives the driver a fifty dollar bill,
dreams come through and true one day,
the taxi driver whispers to Shane.
No one had noticed that it had been raining all along,
the water felt like balm, olive oil
extra virgin on the skin, real nice.
The taxi skids off into the distance free,
Leaving both Joey and Shane,
in five past 5 AM and the couple goes on arguing,
arguing, and someone off a balcony
Soon the post-apocalyptic morning sun,
rises between the ten story buildings,
glimpsing from time to time. Joey smiles
dripping wet, soggy like a dog
as water fills his shoes.
The worst nights are the best to go up home,
to walk up the flights of stairs while coughing out
last night’s smokes. To finally crash,
into bed and snore formaldehyde dreams,
before the fully automatic T-twennee Sunbeam
calls the lonesome morning cockadoodle,