Sunday, December 16, 2007

Poem #350 of 365

I pay ten dollars
once a week
to speak with
a man from
another nation.

He is quick to
smile, and bless
my day. He speaks
of lands with color
I cannot see.

We travel together,
show our worlds
and world perspectives
in the few minutes
I've paid for this.

His skin is sometimes
burnished brown,
with accent thick
as my strong morning
coffee, but stirred in
with sweet caramel
of kindness.

One man recited couplets
of Shakespeare, one
told me not to worry
about Darfur, and today's
man told me that every
single day is a beautiful day.

I arrive at new thinking,
new conclusions, but the
same destination, when I
ride with them. They are
my immigrant international
taxi drivers and they are
my Sunday morning teachers.

For the lessons, I tip them well.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

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