Dante was a cab driver.
He didn't have a lot to say--
pretty silent like the front coming in
or the energy efficient cab he drove.
Dante kept a log--
place and time of pick-up,
place and time of drop-off,
a whole day's work in neat lines and figures.
Some drivers ask people questions,
talk about the sports teams,
or swing their arm across the back of the empty front passenger seat,
about an inch from your knees.
Some show up early, when you're still hopping around
with a heel in one hand and your phone in the other.
Others worry you,
stopping for coffee or Red Bull,
showing up late and putting you past your time.
Dante liked living on his own,
down the block from the car wash.
No wife telling him to turn off the tv
or saying "we have to talk."
No kids squabbling, bringing home trouble.
Nobody dropping in unannounced.
Every day, the roads could be depended upon
to be where they were the day before:
Walter P. Reuther Expressway,
8 Mile Road, Detroit side, suburb side.
He had a schedule--
don't ask him to switch shifts.
He had his log book
and lunch at 1 o'clock.
Last run as the sun goes down,
earth spinning slowly,
dispatch taking the calls.
Dante will be glad enough to see Jesus, I expect,
as long as He has the good sense to ride quiet
and know where he wants to go.
for Izy's Out of Standard challenge--Eulogy For A Stranger