Poetry

Fares (Fair?) Fares!

seattle_cabsThe mariners lost so
every jersey walking swagger
was denied entrance into bars.
the rest contemplating with
their shrines at home.
My grandmother was religious
about the Ms, also
religious. But wouldn’t have
countenanced these instances of
“fucks” and “kill yourself dude”
from numbered, stumbling
players. Is that Griffey? I could
have sworn his number said so.

There is ice in my bones and
Rachel needs to piss. The 7/11
man shoos away the guy
who yells a little louder each
time for “just a five, man.”
I already gave him three and need
the rest of my depleting ones for
a cab ride. Ludicrous, the four block
jaunt, but cold, and weary
and what the hell. Arms full
of brown paper bags, feet
blistering.

“You must live here” he says,
pulled up just past a trio
who have not left that corner
for three stop lights. Speculation
leads to judgement, leads to
crow. “this is it,” i say, and he’s
all “give me whatever you feel
comfortable with” and as I hand
him seven singles I realize
the meter’s never been turned
on.