Posted in Chutzpah

Journey

Posted on by tq1695

Car : cyclist impingement of road space –
nothing unusual
anodyne,
every day – two or three times daily some days.
But
this car, the cutting off car,
the, not paying attention car
the might is right car
is different.
Dark,
heavily chromed, full-sized
odd shaped windows, something covered with flowers
and where the should be driver … an empty space.

“I’m really sorry,”
a voice and uniform emerge from the far side
click
Cadillac, left-hand drive, pause.
An apology, but also request –
intertwining cloned doppelgänger streets
Google Maps is confused
he has to have the deceased home by three –
it is 2.50
do I know?
“Yes,”
explanation fails to bring enlightenment.
I offer to lead ….
but helmet, sunglasses, ear band – seemed disrespectful.

“No mate,” he drops a formal courtesy of a chauffeur,
“ keep it all on
There’s some mad drivers out there.”
We both dissolve into laughter.

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Author:

Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.