Epistle^ Poem by Morgan Michaels

It was uncanny- and a little scary
but days like this, do,I suppose, dawn.
To begin with, the sky was blue- up there and blue:
large, cold misshapen
pocked and vinegary clouds of yesterday
gone- blown to sea.
and my appointment not till noon;
Secondly, from the corner, from up the street
sped a cab whose driver
far from hunching taciturn over the wheel,
for whom a receipt request was an inconvenience,
but a nice, well-favored, young Dominican
who explained the workings of the GPS
vis a vis traffic flow volume
at length, with dizzying exactitude;
whose only offense was to ask,
(studying me closely in the mirror) ,
'did I have kids'?
'Kids', I explained, for his benefit,
were the inevitable....