Calling Car Services
The idle splish-splosh of orange-green
cabbie paint shades cuts a night's reflective
bloom in airs of protest signs,
a hail of marching feet, vague memories
of lights uncovered, flickering in
polish-finish of your eyeglass frames.
The times on the waiting porches for them
after five hastily swallowed mixed drinks
when I'd think of holding you between
sky-pine snowfall and errant
atmosphere of electric wire body heat;
the notions pile,
twist as Gaelic flags in winter wind
but they pass as the taxi rain,
as whiskey ice.
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