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TG Hinchcliff Feb 2014
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.
Elioinai Oct 2014
I was 18,
When he passed me in height,
Though I grew 1/2 an inch before Christmas,
He must have grown 2
He reached 6 feet by the summer

Wes has Brown eyes so deep and clear,
I long to see them a second time in order to stare
So unlike mine, a color that isn't a color

Esther's hair is only curly now,
because she colored it too much,
blonde is ok, but i miss her brown,
no one would mistake us for twins today,
but they might think her bounce is inherited

My father's fingers were as thin as mine,
when i was 10 and he was 17,
I can't fit his class ring

It's been years,
Since I could share shoes with any friend,
Or find good ones at thrift stores

She once said,
I had the nicest pink pout,
In the family,
tho Dad comes in second,
I don't know why,
she would insult herself that way

my cabdriver asked if I was German,
said I was tall, strong, and healthy

Uncle Paul cut my hair,
two springs past,
He feared I would cry,
to lose that thick length,
coursing down my back,
but I didn't blink,
Another year and I'll cut it again,
I swear its grown a foot already
October 14, 2014
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
oh man, abba is like
prog rock made simple;
and there's so much
cheese too... i could
start a factory producing
edible shoe laces - but
then the hot flush butterfly
of puffed up cheeks of smiling...
and what, today'***** single will
not get the same treatment?
we don't remember cavemen
and dinosaurs these days,
we're stuck remembering the
20th century, as the fashion
industry makes a testament of
on a catwalk of designing
a wardrobe no one would wear...
art-house tedium with skeletons
in an open closet...
they mind the logos, so people
say Versace! Dolce & Gabbana!
they really look out for those
signature stilettos and handbags...
the poor ***** just get the
logo printed on their shirts
so people can learn reading once more,
gimme gimme sweden's weather at
midnight so i can chase those Nike
blues away... the new signature of the
illiterate, once the X, now the tick;
tick tick tick... clocking into
a system of being educated to decipher a - z
like a cabdriver,
then pulverised by images to buy spend buy
and become dyslexic when oiled up ***** ****
became a slogan of trademark & copyright of
a certain style of writing C in *****-in-cockle-doodle; cola.

— The End —