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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Personal · #1725485
A poem about my cab driver
His hands grip the wheel.
He listens to the CB,
call out his cab number.
“Five-Four, Lockwood called.”

He picks the CB up.
“On my way,” he says.

He drives down the road,
Tall green trees boarder both sides,
with the hint of a house or two poking through.

He sees the turn before the curve,
and takes it.

He sees the long dirt road,
And goes down it,
Passing several homes,
until he gets to his destination.

Pulling into a small driveway,
he watches a young man,
wearing a red sweatshirt,
and carrying a black backpack,
come out the door,
and come up to him with a smile saying,
“About time you got here Larry.
I was about to call Search and Rescue.”

Larry just smiles and asks,
“Two-thirty at the Gym?”

The young man nods and says,
“Let’s get going.”

Larry then picks up the CB and says,
“Five-Four. On my way.”
© Copyright 2010 BIG BAD WOLF Happy July 4th! (alockwood1 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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