The Driver Of Bronx Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

For years I hold a steering; same way, same stations,
the passengers same and colourless. My Bronx,
a crowd made of padded air, having a dry voice.

Then one day, I suddenly turn the wheel towards Florida,
me the driver and sole passenger of the bus. Oh, heavens!

It took them three days to locate where I was. What a rage,
what a steam did I cause to the Bus Company! Damn it
if we don’t dream and they direct us, without our will.
I took your place and I dared to break that mirror,
that one which blurs the eyes and deludes the mind.

I return to the city and my eyes with teardrops rejoice,
when I see the flags of your joy, bands to welcome me,
confetti, dancng in the street, cameras, radios blaring.
I bring you Miami’s dew to replace the heat of loneliness,
I fetch your body from the tomb, I come out like Lazarus.

You say the Company will forgive me, for your sake.
Now the important is that you dare to dance on a rope,
that you take my place and escape from the void.

For it takes much audacity to breed such cowardice.

Well, turn the wheel to the other country, the inner one,
let your gregarious self to step out, your hidden self in,
the hero who reveals especially in a period of peace.


© JosephJosephides