Odyssey
       

In my line of work, nuance is dangerous.
When that couple in the backseat
asks to go where history meets motion,
I flip the meter and hit the gas,
because it is my job to transport them,
no questions asked. I head downtown,
following the flow of streaming traffic,
paying no heed to the waves of heat
that gyrate heavenward from my hood,
taunting me with reminders of a world
beyond this asphalt grid, full of scents
and sights and sounds. It' s a kingdom
of privilege, and this giggling pair
behind the plexiglass is privy to its
whispers and secrets in ways
I' ll never have the chance to know.
For now, I am transformed, one with
the steering column, focused, transfixed,
a trusted navigator sailing against
the jets and eddies of invisible winds.
The hidden alleys that pass for streets
seem a careless haphazard maze to the
uninitiated, but these two never blink
as we negotiate the circuitous byways.
I deliver them to the kind of place
where they will find kindred spirits,
lost wayfarers seeking caves of solace
en route to ultimate places of greater
influence and sway, deciding fates
and bending the universe's ear
from plush high-rise duplex sanctums
with superior views. They drift away,
leaving two bills of a wise man in bifocals,
and tell me to keep the change. Change
is all I keep, as each fare serves up
the possibility of hazard or delight,
a means of survival that turns days to
travelers' nights, a journey never-ending,
garage as distant home beckoning
the warrior from beyond.

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Copyright © 2015 Gary Glauber All rights reserved
from Small Consolations
The Aldrich Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission