sun scalded eyes-
bones blasted by
the fourteenth pothole-
another
fucking taxi driver
who can't fucking indicate-
head heavy with the pain of sunset-
what is this crap they play on the radio these days-
clutch cramp-
no Sir, I don't have any change today-
dead traffic light-
tag on another half-hour of crawling up
the bum of the car in front of me-
mental congestion.
but you know
I'd drive
another thousand minutes of this
for coming home to you.
2 comments:
But I would walk five hundred miles
And I would walk five hundred more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door
#Proclaimers#
i like this poem - very sbm :)
Your poem reminds me of my taxi ride from Airport to the wharf.
Road was full of potholes, the taxi driver acts as if he is piloting F20.
Reach destination in record time, but the heart misses a beat or two.
Yours too slow, mine too fast
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