The Cabbie

Max had driven cab for years, a mainstay
in the district. He’d picked up lost children,
teens with stab wounds, daft old ladies, Broadway
stars, discharged soldiers trying to be civilians.

He functioned as the eyes and ears of the city,
He would phone it in, then drift away when
the call was answered by the Cops or EMT’s.
Tonight, while driving back from Long Island,

loud screams suddenly shattered the stillness.
He raced ahead and saw a man struggling alone
to push a car out of a ditch, a girl left
inside was shouting at him to call 911,

Max saw that she was in labor, they’d rushed
out of their drive and spun out on the black ice.
He checked on her, the cord had been pushed
out, but no baby yet. Max knew this might

be lethal, he’d seen it once, long ago.
They helped her into his cab and laid her down,
He lifted her hips, slid his old Navy pea coat
underneath her, then headed for the closest town.

In minutes they were at maternity where the staff
shouted his praises. Before long he was sore
from all the back slaps. Dubbed a hero in the past,
he knew he’d soon be a nameless face once more.