"Sofia"

I hail a cab
   caught off guard by a June rain
When the leaves on trees
   are mere memories
And snow is a four-letter word
   with a demure sense of humor . . .

I dash into the cab
   expecting to find a grumpy man
   in his late 50s
   and cigarette smoke written on his windshield.

Instead, I land into
   a silent car of rechargeable intentions
Driven by a young man from Lebanon
   who is moonlighting
   while earning a degree in molecular biology.

Next to me
   a beautiful woman is staring
   at her phone
Oblivious to my rain-drenched presence
   and my surprise at sharing a cab at 2:30am.

She is smiling
   then sighing,
   then smiling and sighing
Until her shoulders begin to protest
   the see-sawing of position and attitude.

She is admiring her 11-year-old niece back home
   in Argentina
Recalling her own adventures at that age,
   of . . .

Becoming a gymnast,
   striving to impress equipment that was
   too jaded to be surprised at any feat.

Taking up the cello
   with the goal of talking to the local birds
   and horses that grace the town on Holidays.

Dealing with the death
   of her older brother who had visions
   of dictators and saints
   and dangerously curious reporters.

Finally she looks up at me,
   also
Surprised to see another passenger at 2:30am
   surprised that I am still dripping wet
   surprised that I am not holding the obligatory
      communication device like a rosary.

As her gaze deepens
   I, too
   am recalling my own adventures from that age . . .

The crack of the bat as the left-fielder
   chases after my soaring line drive.
The sound of my organ swirling
   through a Leslie speaker with my first rock band.
The scream I emanate when I see part of my finger
   disappear into a car door . . .

When I transport myself back into the cab,
   I blink,
   clear my throat,
   and say to her

Sorry, I didn't catch your name . . .          

 

August 2022

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©2022, Michael Smolens