Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Mather Schneider- Three Poems

Old white lady standing outside Target
with a bag and 3 house plants
after we load up she climbs in my taxi
and starts in on me:
“Miracle you found the place
here’s my ticket you know what that’s for right
that means I don’t have to pay for the ride
I know you guys aren’t that bright
Handicar was much better
I just loved Handicar I can’t believe your company got the contract
I used Handicar for years
they were the best
I just loved Jodi and Betsy and Sally in the dispatch office
real sweethearts and they knew what they were doing
not like the morons at your dispatch office
they don’t even know Tucson at all
I mean where the hell do they find these idiots
they’re RUDE
and they expect you to give them an EXACT ADDRESS
what a pain in the ass
and these drivers ya’ll got Jesus Christ
where do you get your drivers an insane asylum
I thought that last driver was gonna murder me
I didn’t leave the house for a week afterwards
and I called and complained about him too
you bet your sweet ass I did
nobody treats me like that and gets away with it
I know my rights
he didn’t even know where he was GOING
God damned you’re a taxi driver and you don’t know where
Calle De Osa is
it’s right THERE everybody knows that
I just don’t know why you guys had to steal the contract
from Handicar
they were the best
I hope you know where you’re going
I’d like to get home sometime today
and watch those speed bumps Mario Andretti
my hemorrhoids are acting up.”

In an effort not to be ruled by emotion
I hide emotion.
In an effort not to appear stupid
I become self-consciousness and careful.
In an effort to be strong
I only appear strong.
In an effort to believe in one right way
I call all other ways wrong.
In an effort to be an individual
I stand in line.
In an effort to find peace
I cherish comfort and routine.
In an effort to be beautiful
my arrogance flowers.
In an effort to free myself
I make rules and guidelines.
In an effort to control
I kill.
In an effort to love
I parrot.
In an effort to do something meaningful
I run in circles
until I fall down.

Hey you two old Frenchies
waiting at the co-op grocery
with your 15 cute 10-dollar re-usable baglets
loaded with 3 dollar apples and 9 dollar bunches
of kale and classical music fed
chicken and organic foi gras
god I knew it was you before I even arrived in my taxi
to pick your snob-asses up
that accent makes me want to slap the duck out of you
and the way you stand up and wait for me
to open the doors for you
and kiss your stringy little hands
husband and wife how adorable
and the way you leave your groceries there on the sidewalk table
for me to load in the trunk
like a cleft-lip slave boy
as if it would kill you to carry even one bag
probably thinking
“Hey we gave them the statue of liberty
we gave them New Orleans”
and then the predictable address where you live
which I already know
because I’ve picked your superior asses up half
a dozen times already
but of course you don’t recognize me because all Americans
or at least all taxi drivers
look alike
“Do you know where this address is?”
“Yes I know where it is”
and then giving me directions anyway
didn’t I just tell your stupid ass I knew where it was?
and the “Can you turn the air conditioning on?”
when any idiot knows it takes a few seconds
after you start a car for the air conditioning to kick in
like I’m just a moron driving around in the 108
degree heat without the air conditioning on
too low class to even know it’s hot out
and then your “Turn here” and “turn here”
and the big whopping seven fucking dollars on the meter
and your “Can you give me a discount?”
and my “Why, are you in the military?”
and your “I’m gonna use my debit card”
and where it says “tip” you punch in a big “0”
and your “Where’s my receipt?”
when the receipt takes a second to print out give it a second
you French twat what do you think I’m gonna cheat you
and anyway why oh why
do you need a receipt? You gonna write
this taxi ride off your taxes
chintsy French-ass sissy bitches?
and then you get out of the cab and de-activate the alarm
on your ridiculously overpriced
refurbished old town adobe house
expecting me to carry your groceries
inside and probably put them away for you and cook
dinner for you too
maybe sweep off the doorstep while I’m at it
and water the wisterias you waify
Eiffel Tower woosies
you know, when I leave the bags on the curb just remember
I am refraining
from throwing them in the gutter
bursting your little cartons of almond milk
and trust me when you say,
“Have a good day”
I can make
the translation.

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