The taxi driver leaves his vehicle,
Heaving with rage and despite
The spikes of stares and horns
He strides, broad-shouldered
In morning light, discarding
The other cars in their mounting heat.
As our bus passes he is returning,
Leaving faces burning with speculation
Gazes grazing, knuckles tight
Then words and gestures flying.
The 20 second drama of a fleeing vehicle,
Unscathed car and gunslinger
Has worked a charm on isolated souls.
As we withdraw again
I feel like something’s kindled
And, among my workaday,
I yearn to tell the tale
Of a driven man, betrayed,
Enraged, illuminated, or maybe,
Ultimately, just insane.
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