Taxis as seen from the High Line
POETRY doesn’t come often to me. It came to me this morning. I was standing on 23rd Street at 9 a.m., waiting patiently for a cab to come along. I waited and waited. Others saw me waiting and went off to try their luck somewhere else. It was a frustrating experience and one that happens too often for my liking.
We New Yorkers are so proud of never needing a car in the city, ‘you can get everywhere you want to go using public transport,’ we tell those suburban out-of-towners, and that’s true, but once in a while we, too, get lazy and crave the comfort of sitting in the back seat while the city whizzes by, one street at a time.
What follows is a description of my love-hate relationship with cabs in New York— in rhyme:
Ode to the Elusive Yellow Cab
I look to the left, look to the right
But there’s nary a cabbie in sight
I turn my head and I tap my toe
Where did all of those yellow cabs go?
Look at my watch, and look at time pass
I need a cab, and I need it fast!
I cross the street, hoping for some luck
Just missed one on the other side, f$#k!
There’s one going by, but the light’s not on
People inside, a kid and his mom
Here’s one now, but off-duty it looks
Two others won’t go cross-town, those crooks!
I’m having a bad yellow cab day
I even consider starting to pray
But then one cruises down the lane
Yes! My patience a taxi did gain
It’s about time that I caught a break
In the cold I had started to shake
Just then an old man stepped out on the road
Cursing inside, I honored the code
Graciously gave him my hard-won ride
Even though I was fit to be tied
At that point I surrendered the fight
Subway it is, though it’s late at night
Defeated, I walk across the street
I hear a honk, my heart skips a beat!
The yellow cab pulls up by my side,
“Hey young lady, do you need a ride?”
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