Taxi
Neons and bright lights pass me by as I sit.
The driver remains cool as he begins takes a hit.
The cars learns right and its time for me to take a sip.
Never thought about it, never thought I’d smoke a cig.
But I drop some ashes as we cross this Brooklyn Bridge.
They say it’s an addicting habit. Oh well, embrace the wind.
So as my head droops and the wind runs through my hair.
My destination is forgotten, I truly don’t care.
Those nearby brake lights cause no alarm for me.
My feet are comfortably placed next to my body.
Muscle tension has removed itself entirely.
Floating along the curves and contours of the concrete.
Neither awake nor asleep.
Not Nissan, not Cadillac, and not Jeep.
No stir in the afternoon, do not make a peep.
The hill nearby is presumed to be quite steep.
So I ground myself, turn my head from right to left.
The rumble is so low, it could be heard in base clef.
I get a call, will I bet there? Mos’ def’.
I flick my hand up and whistle with my last breath.
Taxi…
