A saintly cabdriver
High in the mountains of Arizona
Once told me to try to never be cynical.
Live in the now, you won’t regret it.
His own son
Had given his life to negativity.
I never saw the driver’s face
But I know he had a moustache
And I imagine his face was lined
With many years of the winters of Flagstaff
And the harsh wisdom of all creation.
I tipped him two dollars after
The ride was over.
I probably should have also told him
Thanks for saving my life
Or
Thanks to you
For imparting these golden thoughts
Or
I hope things work out between you and your boy.
But I didn’t.
Instead I got in my car
And pointed the headlights
For New Mexico.
It was a long drive.
That was many months ago
And it has been a crazy ride ever since.
I remember every single woman
That I have “loved.”
I remember all of the friends
Whose shoulders were but precipices for understanding.
I even remember what I had for breakfast this morning
Or what new horror story the news had for me a month ago.
But I will forget those things soon enough.
The cabdriver
Who’s name I never even asked for
High in the San Francisco Mountains
Of Arizona
Spinning his wheels all around a city
Filled with
People that really just want him to drive them somewhere.
He drove me somewhere.
I just don’t know where.
The perfect thing is that
Once he was gone
He was gone.