In this life


From the break of day to nightfall

copious passengers:

overworked mothers,

college students,

gang members,

important business men,

with facial declarations that are impossible to conceal

their defeat, desperation, and detachment

enter my father's cab.

They have different motives but

all share the same absence of knowledge.

None of them

can make out the grounds behind his loyalty,

can grasp why his devotion is bursting,

sprouting fireworks

from his palms whirling the wheel 

to the sole of his foot pressing the gas pedal.

If they can catch a glimpse of the image

within his gaze during a red light

they'd see my brother and I,

they'd see his world

They'd see

the only reason why he's still pushing through

pushing through the hardships,

boulders, and moutains.

The same ones his passengers encounter

and the same ones he helps them overcome.

My gratitude for this man can't be represented enough

not in this poem,

but maybe in this life:

by dedicating myself to the people I care for

the same way.

From the break of day to nightfall.



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