he talks on the phone and his son
got a scholarship
and his daughter, well, she doesn’t have much
asks him for money he can’t afford
but he tells her i love you
through a wireless earpiece
while around us the city
throbs
goes wild
breathes
and he blows his horn at other cabs
like a sound-bleat form of morse code
i don’t think much of him as
i breathe in the burnt gasoline
and sweltering magnesium of the city sidewalk
i am with him for five-minutes-and-thirty-six-seconds
six-dollars-and-seventy-seven-cents
four-point-three miles
two dollar tip
enough to know he has an invisible life
that goes on and on
everything will be alright
i will work harder to keep you in a home
he says to his daughter
through the bluetooth connection
in a language i’ve never heard before

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