Mather Schneider- Three Poems

RAY OF SUNSHINE ON A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

 

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.”

LOOK AT ME, TRYING TO BE WISE

 

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.

BONNE JOURNEE

 

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.