Cutie’s Cab

The driver wouldn’t help her with her stuff.
Not my job, he said, but wouldn’t meet her eye.
I just take you where you need to go.
The fare’s a penny, so get in if you want to fly.

She hesitated. The door
half open and the inviting seat,
the plush carpet, waiting
ready to take the weight off her feet.

You’ve been going through the motions, luv, he said.
I can tell, when someone’s wearing too much red.
You don’t know where you’re going, it’s in your eyes,
but this old thing will take you there besides.

Her hand was on the handle, and the clunk
of metal seemed reassuring, somehow. Solid.
Full of purpose. Maybe she could borrow some.
I don’t have the coin, she said.

No matter. He stared at the dashboard
as if he read the answer in the dials.
If you don’t pay there, someone else will.
Get on in, but I can’t get by on smiles.

She fluttered, briefly, as the net
closed with the door. Another solid clunk
and the dark quelled her agitation.
It will be nice, she thought,
at last, to have a destination.