The trip back flowed silent dead,

Flying alive, both of us thinking

Calling nothing, but oblique looks

That could change the moment

In this tale of two for the taking.

I thanked him for such a night

And wished the driver God luck!

Good luck! he replied, as I graced

A hand to make him feel I was

Not taking it against him at all.

Days rofled on, and I got a call --

Glad he recalled my name on the phone,

But sad to hear him down and mad.

My comrade spied the taxi’s number

And dialed the owner, the breaker’s old man.

The license of the cab and the gun proved

To be a police colonel, around retiring.

The talk of the armed forces came

To cool; but the guy was frantic

Over his father’s nagging, with much ado.

I prayed my comrade to cease

From firing at a word, to plane

The situation. I gave back his money

And took mine, retracing the whole thing.

Thence, smooth facts turned out to roost.

Drive, holdup, friends

It now is, with feelings unheld;

He returned the old phone and wanted

To do the same with the money

That, at last, we took joy in a song.

A month later, Saturday, 26 March 2016

Tagurabong City, Philippines

Posted 6 months and 6 days to the Day

Thursday, 1 September 2016