I took a taxi home from a lovely Christmas party on Friday night. When I got in the taxi, the driver asked, in heavily accented English, whether I'd like to hear a poem he'd written."Well, actually," I said, looking at the snow covered streets, "I'd prefer it if you concentrated on the road."
"It's okay," he said, "I memorized it."
So he proceeds to recite his poem, which went something like:
Your eyes are like two pools
Your mouth is like pillow
"Is it pillow or pillows," he asked.
"Pillow," I responded, getting into the spirit of the thing.
He continued:
Your heart is like the blanket that wraps around me on a cold day.
Your hands are soft like the air.
"Nice use of simile," I intoned from the back seat.
"Your voice is like the sound of angels in the sky," he continued.
"What do you think," he said, after rhyming off a few more stanzas.
"That's great," I said, encouragingly, imagining the positive response he'd get from the subject of his poem. "If you don't mind me asking, who's it about?"
"Nobody," he said.
1 comment:
that's wicked.
a bit creepy, as in "I would check the door locks kind of creepy", but still wicked.
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