111 Jane Street


"111 Jane Street"

she said
with that silky voice I loved.
Posy pink on perfect lips,
she was stunning in the back seat,
just as she was on the first date.
Shadowed eyes, lined with black, stared
away from the boring beige interior.

I longed
to talk with her again,
“Bit cloudy today, isn’t it?”
but she despised cheap lines
and the stale smell of old cabs.
I heard the faint blow of air
as she dispelled the stench from her nostrils.

I knew
that she hated
the old, the grime, the dirtof New York and longed for
the new, the fresh, the clean
of the country.
I loved when she’d excitedly exclaim,
“It’ll be a big house with plants and trees!”

We veered
off Washington and continued on shady Jane.
Eyes downcast,
she paid the fee, and I heard the click
of heels on pavement.

I turned
my cab around the corner, and looked in the rearview
to catch one last, lingering glimpse
as she walked away to her apartment

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