Catching a Cab in Burlington, Vermont
The sun has set, the dusk is deep.
You wipe your fingers of hamburger grease
while the counter girl cleans up, humming,
closing. Stepping out, you catch a taxi
for the five minute ride to the Ho Hum Motel.
The driver, Amanda, looks college age.
She says her father owns the cab.
Chatty, she says she's lived here
her whole life. It's a safe town:
"I mean, look at me, I'm driving a taxi at night."
A pleasant trip.
Morning, you head for the lake where
sailboats flutter like delicate moths.
Your cabbie, Albert, blares the horn: "This is what
I hate about this town. People
don't get out of the way. People walkin'!
Y'know what I'm sayin'?"
Albert's a whiner, a short guy.
"I can't wait to go back south in a couple
months when my service ends."
Oh, service. Meaning: Albert's on parole,
a work-release. What crime?
Probably no danger, but strange.
You count your change.