A TAXI – DRIVER ON HIS DEATH

Timothy Wangusa

When with prophetic eye I peer into the future

I see that I shall perish upon this road

Driving men that I do not know.

This metallic monster that now I dictate,

This docile elaborate horse,

That in silence seems to simmer and stram

Shall surely revolt some tempting day.

Thus is shall die; not that I care

For any man’s journey

Nor for proprietor’s gain,

Nor for  love of my own

Not for these do I attempt the forbidden limits,

For these defy the traffic- man and the cold cell,

Risking  everything for the  little more.

They shall say, I know, who pick up my bones,

Poor chap, another victim tot h ruthless machine”

Concealing my blood under the metal.